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Photo by L. D. Sherman 

BAITING THE LOBSTER POT 



CASCO BAY 
YARNS 



BY 

Williams Haynes 

Author of "Sandhills Sketches", etc. 



ILLUSTRATED WITH 

PHOTOGRAPHS 

BY THE AUTHOR 



NEW YORK 

D. O. Haynes & Co 
Publishers 



• C<?/-/<f 



Copyright 1916 
By Williams Haynes 



T?~ 



JUL 22 1916 



'CI.A433S30 






FOREWORD 

THIS little book was begun, quite uninten- 
tionally, five summers ago by my going 
out early one morning to help haul a line of lob- 
ster pots in order to gather material for a maga- 
zine article. What I learned gossiping with the 
lobstermen was so interesting that I was tempted 
to visit a neighboring island, and I was gradu- 
ally coaxed into making a regular pilgrimage 
among the " Calendar Isles.' ' In the end, I 
spent several weeks in the Library of the Maine 
Historical Society, digging out the early history 
of the Bay. 

A great many very different people have con- 
tributed to this book — some a fact or a fable: 
others a glimpse of character or a typical phrase. 
I cannot thank all individually, but I must es- 
pecially thank Mr. Robert G. Albion, of Port- 
land and Great 'Chebeague Island, and Miss Eve- 
lyn L. Gilmore, Librarian of the Maine Histori- 
cal Society, for their help in collecting historical 
material. 

I am also indebted to the editors of "The 
Casco Bay Breeze,' ' "Forecast," "Travel" 
"Lippincott's" and "Outing" for their permis- 
sion to publish here the "yarns' ' that first ap- 
peared in their magazines. 



Williams Haynes. 



Aucocisco, Cliff Island, 
Casco Bay, Maine. 



CONTENTS 

Lite Lobster * 7 

Bewitched Gold 21 

Tainted Money 42 

The Cruise of the Souse 73 

The Story op Casco Bay 

I The Land of Aucocisco . . .. 91 

II The Frontier of New England . 115 

III 1776, 1812 and 1861 .... 144 

Casco Myths and Legends 166 



Live Lobster 

«T3 R-R-R-R-R-R-RING !" 

-D I clapped my hand over the alarm 
clock to hush its clatter. Just because I had 
accepted Cap'n Ed Linscott's cordial invita- 
tion to run his line of lobster pots with him 
was no good reason why the whole family 
should be awakened at half past two. 

In the darkness I felt my way around the 
bed post, past a treacherous rocker, over to 
the window. I raised the shade and peered 
out. Overhead the stars were already be- 
ginning to lose their twinkling brightness, 
but land and water lay veiled in the night 
mists, Though I could distinctly hear the 
swishing, whispering wash of the incoming 
tide against the rocks fifty feet below, I could 
not make out the familiar outline of the 
ragged shore. Over in the village, among 
the cluster of fishermen's homes, several yel- 
low light® burned dimly through the haze 



CASOO BAY YARNS 

and the sudden "putter-putter-putter-put- 
put-put" of a motor boat over in the Cove 
told that at least one of the early-birds was 
already out. 

There was a particularly brilliant illu- 
mination in Cap'n Ed's kitchen, and I hur- 
ried into my clothes. The Cap'n has not 
been blessed with the patience of Job, and 
since I particularly wanted him to be in a 
talkative good humor this morning, I did 
not want to keep him waiting. After hastily 
washing down a couple of cold bacon sand- 
wiches with a cup of re-heated, coal-black 
coffee, I slipped out of the cottage. The 
cool, damp, salt-laden morning breeze, 
breathing the witching spell of the sea, 
greeted me. In the half -darkness I stumbled 
over to the Cove. 

Cap'n Ed was loading his punt with a tub 
half full of cod heads, pieces of cunner, and 
crushed crabs, the delicious tid-bits with 
which the old vulture of the sea bottom is 
tempted into the traps. The odoriferous 
cargo safely aboard, he straightened up and 
replied to my morning salutations with a 
deep grunt. So, I had kept him waiting 
after all. 

8 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

"Looks," lie added pessimistically, "as eff 
we was agoin' to git a leetle blow." 

"Do you think so?" I asked in mock ap- 
prehension. 

He chuckled appreciatively. "Here," he 
said, not unkindly, "you hop aboard, an' I'll 
shove off." 

"Have I kept you waiting?" I asked. 

"Not particular. Git aboard." 

I stepped into the punt, crawled over the 
bait tub and sat down gingerly on the dew- 
soaked stern seat. The Cap'n gave a mighty 
heave that sent the heavy punt bounding 
away from the wharf, swinging himself 
aboard and picking up the oars almost in 
one movement. 

As we were rowing out to where the 8 ally 
L was tugging at her mooring, young Jimmy 
Wilson came running down to the beach and 
jumped into his punt. His vigorous, young 
strokes carried him past us, and he hailed, 
good naturedly advising the Cap'n "to try 
an' git away afore sun-up." The Cap'n did 
not deign to reply. By the time our punt 
was made fast to the mooring, Jimmy's 
Mermaid, as he fantastically called his pro- 
saic, brick-red tub of a lobster boat, was al- 
ready spluttering out of the Cove. As the 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Cap'n cranked his engine, I heard him mut- 
tering something about "young pirate". 

"Here," he said to me once the engine was 
running smoothly, "you take her a bit while 
I ret up," calling over his shoulder as he 
stowed the bait tub away, "Mind thet reef 
— et's only half tide. We'll haul them pots 
over by the Broken Cave and the Mink 
Rocks," 

It is a mark of friendship and confidence 
when Cap'n Ed entrusts the Sally L to any- 
one, and I accepted her as a special trust. 
Next to the old lady she is named after, this 
motor boat is closest to Cap'n Ed's heart. 
She is not beautiful, but very capable, a 
buxom fisher lass, stout and strong, well 
able to buffet with the sea and do the rough 
knockabout work of lobstering. She can 
handle a deal of rough weather and her oak 
ribs have not cracked under many a thump- 
ing against buoys and wharfs. Like most 
of the Down East lobster boats, she is a 
broad-beamed, heavy craft, about twenty- 
four feet long, and though she is not speedy, 
she minds her tiller quickly. Forward of 
the engine, a rude, crosswise partition 
makes a compartment where the lobsters 
are dumped. Here they can scramble about 

10 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

and engage in bitter, fruitless duels without 
being any trouble. Beside the engine, and 
running aft on each side of the cockpit, are 
two seats. On one of these, after everything 
was ship-shape, the Cap'n sat down opposite 
me and deliberately lighted his pipe. 

We had slipped out of the Cove, 'round 
Lone Pine Point, and were running between 
Cliff and Jewell's Island. The night mists 
were melting away. Off the wooded end of 
Jewell's Island I could just make out a pur- 
plish haze at the edge of the horizon. This 
I knew was the barren steep-sided rock, 
Brown Cow, and I steered a course just 
inside of it where the Mink Rocks lie. These 
rocks and reefs are a part of the great break- 
water that Nature has flung carelessly be- 
tween Casco Bay and North Atlantic. 
Among their ragged shoals is a favorite 
haunt of the lobster, and here Cap'n Ed had 
laid his line of pots. It is a nasty place for 
a small boat, a place where the white spray 
of the rolling ocean surf is) flung far over 
the reefs and where a cruel, swift tide sucks 
around the hidden rocks. 

The mists had all but vanished now. In 
the west the stars had faded to the tiniest 
pin-points of pale light, and little wisps of 

11 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

pink clouds, streaked across the eastern sky, 
foretold the coming of the sun. The wind 
had died down completely. The quiet ocean, 
a great piece of olive-green changeable silk 
with rose pink showing on the tip of every 
ripple, stretched away on all sides of us. 
Suddenly the sun climbed out of the ocean, 
and in a moment it was full day. The mist 
melted away. The water was changed in 
an instant to a great, sparkling sapphire, 
curiously wrought with little flecks of pure 
beaten gold. The wind came puffing across 
the Bay, and the smooth sea was broken 
into a myriad of tiny waves. We glided be- 
hind Brown Cow, and its rugged cliffs stood 
black and bold against the rising sun. 

"It's too bad/' I said, breaking a long si- 
lence, "that sun rise is over so quickly." 

"It's too bad that Wilson b'y don't keep 
away from other folks' lobster pots!" 

"What," I asked, laughing at this violent 
transition, "what is the matter with the Wil- 
son boy?" 

"Thar ain't nawthin' partic'lar the matter 
with Jimmy — 'cept he's jest like the rest 
o' the youngsters. Not one in a hundred 
of 'em's got backbone enough to go t'sea, 
an' not more'n one in fifty'll even go fishin'. 

12 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

Thar ain't a b'y on the Island kin lay a 
course by the compass. They don't know 
nawthin' 'bout a baut." 

"Captain," I interrupted, "you are alto- 
gether too hard on them. Jimmy, and young 
Fletcher, and half a dozen others can take a 
boat anywhere in Casco Bay" 

"Co'rse they kin — a motor baut!" He 
knocked the ashes out of his pipe into his 
hand and tossed them away with a gesture 
of utmost contempt. "Et don't take a sailor 
to crank an engine, et takes a chofoor!" 
The Cap'n's voice was trembling with right- 
eous indignation. "In my day," he added 
proudly, "we b'ys went t'sea an' left the 
lobsters and the clams to the old men, but 
there's not a young 'un in the Bay t'day's 
been b'yond Cape Cod, an' as fer sailin' fer 
furrin' ports — why they think more of goin' 
Down East off the Banks after sword fish 
than we did of roundin' the Horn. They 
jest want to hang 'round all day in a high- 
standin' collar, an' play baseball, an' make 
a livin' lobsterin'. Some of 'em's too durned 
lazy to lay their own pots, so they haul any- 
one's pot they think ain't goin' to ketch 'em. 
Just look over thar at that Jimmy Wilson 
now !" 

13 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

The Cap'n pointed toward Ministerial Is- 
land, where Jimmy was certainly hauling a 
lobster pot out of the water. 

"I'll bet he ain't hed a pot of his own over 
thar fer four months. He's been alaying his 
traps off between Outer Green and Junk o' 
Pork." 

"He may have moved them," I put in. 

"Shucks!" the old man replied shortly. 
"We'll jest run in 'round thet way an' see 
whose pots he's been robbin'." He stood up 
and peered ahead to sight one of the red and 
white buoys that marked his own pots. 
"Thet furst b'oy," he said, "lies 'teen the 
p'int of the Cow and thet reef. A leetle 
more to starb'd. Thar, thet's et." 

In a moment we caught sight of the bob- 
bing white block with its twin bands of red, 
Cap'n Ed's private mark, and I headed right 
for it. The Cap'n picked up the boathook 
and stood by the engine. When we were al- 
most on top of the buoy, with one sweeping 
dexterous movement, he snapped off the 
switch of the Sally Us motor, reached over 
the side, hooked the buoy, and landed it in 
the boat. It all sounds very easy — on a calm 
day I can do it myself, quite neatly — but in 
a blow, when the Sally L dances about and 

14 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

the little buoy bobs up and down like a cork, 
only experience, the result of years of al- 
most daily practice, enables the lobsterman, 
single-handed, to handle his tiller, his en- 
gine, and his boathook all at once and to 
pick up the buoy every time at the first try. 
Grabbing the buoy's line, the Cap'n 
hauled away till the lobster pot was drawn 
dripping over the side. Hauling a lobster 
pot is hard, heavy work. One needs a stout 
back and strong arms and hands as tough 
as sole leather. The old man was puffing as 
he untangled the festoons of seaweed and 
kelp that decorated the pot and dropped 
them silently overboard, but had I offered 
to help him in his work, he would have been 
insulted. Was I not his guest? Etiquette 
permitted that I take the tiller, but forbade 
that I do any real work. Hauling a lobster 
pot has, however, all the fascinating uncer- 
tainty of gambling. It is really a vigorous 
game of grab-bag. You can never tell what 
will be in the slatted wooden trap. There 
may be five dollars' worth of good legal lob- 
sters. There may only he a couple of 
"shorts", too small to be sold when the war- 
den is about. There may be nothing but 
some crabs — "bait robbers" the -Cap'n calls 

15 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

them, and squares matters by turning them 
themselves into bait. 

Cap'n Ed balanced the pot on the edge of 
the gun'ale and opened the door on the top. 
We both peered in eagerly. "Three count- 
ers", well over the limit, one of them a 
"reg'lar whopper", a great grand-daddy of 
a lobster, and one that looked short to me. 
The Cap'n thrust his hand into the pot and 
quickly deposited the three larger lobsters 
in the forward compartment. One of them 
was a "shedder", a soft shell, who will have 
to spend some time in captivity before going 
to market, for, unlike his cousin the crab, he 
is not fit to eat in this condition. The three 
scrambled about, making no end of fuss, 
and, as if blaming each other for their 
plight, grappled in deadly, nipping em- 
braces, so that the Cap'n had to drive little 
wooden pegs into the joints of their great 
claws to keep them from hurting each other. 
Just then, however, he was looking mourn- 
fully at the "leetle 'un." He measured him 
between two cleats on the gun'ale, and he 
was a good two inches short of the Maine 
law's minimum. 

"He's a leetle small, ain't he?" 
"He certainly is," I replied smiling. 

16 




THE PUNCH BOWL, JEWELL S ISLAND 




INDIAN HEAD ROCK, JEWELL S ISLAND 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

"Wal," Cap'n Ed said, slowly, as he 
dropped the young lobster overboard, "I 
ain't much of a hand to keep shorts. Not," 
he added candidly, "that I don't take a few 
home to Mother for eatin' ourselves. They're 
a heap sweeter tastin'." 

"Of course they are, and that's just where 
the rub comes, doesn't it?" I said, and he 
nodded. "When Mr. Swell down in the 
Broadway restaurant tells the waiter, "I'll 
have a broiled live lobster to-night, a nice, 
small, young one, Louis", he gives his order 
to the fat cook, the dealer, the commission 
man, and the lobsterman, doesn't he?" 

The Cap'n took my words very literally, 
and he flared up in one of his delightful out- 
bursts. "Since I hed a ship of my own, 
thet's since eighty-four — she was a four- 
master, the Agatha in coastwise trade — 
since then, I ain't took orders from nob'dy." 

"Well," I laughed, "he gives his orders to 
the ones who do trade in 'shorts'." 

"Ma'be so, ma'be so," and the Cap'n 
reached for the second buoy which we were 
just approaching. 

After he had hauled the pot, taken out a 
single lobster, re-baited the trap and lowered 
it again, he turned to me and said, "Speak- 

17 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

in' of sich, et's my 'pinion thet eff all the 
laws agin takin' short lobsters was repealed, 
an' all the lobster wardens fired to Bally- 
hack, we'd hev less law breakin' an' more 
lo'bsters." 

"If there were no laws, there'd certainly 
be less law breaking," I replied gravely, 
"that's real nonsense." 

His eyes twinkled as he answered, "Wal, 
it's dnrned sensible nonsense." 

"What about the lobsters?" I asked 

"Ev'ry man in Casco Bay knows thet eff 
we ain't kerfnl we ain't going' to hev no 
lobsters some day, bnt nob'dy throws back 
shorts 'canse nob'dy else does. Thet leetle 
feller I dropped over at the furst pot was 
legal length in Mas'chusetts or N'York, eff 
he weren't here in Maine, and et ain't so 
hard to git 'em to Boston neither. Thet's 
whar the laws is all wrong." 

The Cap'n waxed eloquent on the subject, 
and before he had finished we had hauled 
the last of his row of pots, and over a dozen 
of big green fellows, all well over the legal 
limit, were crawling about in the compart- 
ment. His threatened blow had not come, 
though a brisk breeze was blowing smartly 
out of the northwest, and the Sally L, when 

18 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

I headed her for home again, danced and 
skipped gleefully over the little whitecaps. 

"Let's take a look at the pots Jimmy Wil- 
son was haulm'," he suggested, and I head- 
ed for the end of Ministerial Island. Inside 
the long reef we could see a line of bobbing 
red buoys. I skirted the end of the reef, 
and as we neared the buoys, the Cap'n 
picked up his boat hook again. He shut off 
the engine and reached for the buoy, but 
just as he was about to hook it, a wave rolled 
it over and there flashed to view, in baby 
blue letters on the red background, the in- 
itials "J. W." Without a word the Cap'n 
threw down his boat hook and cranked his 
engine. We hurried past the nodding red 
buoys with their bold blue monograms. The 
Cap'n kept his eyes fixed in the rocky point 
of Cliff Island. After a long time he spoke. 

"I cal'late I was too hard on Jimmy Wil- 
son. Them was his pots." I nodded and he 
continued simply. "Maybe the b'ys'll come 
'round alright. I cal'late et's mainly the 
summer folks' fault. They spoils them 
young fellers dreadful." 

"Of course, nobody ever spoils the old fel- 
lows, do they?" I asked innocently enough. 

iCap'oi Ed looked at me a moment and 

19 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

then he solemnly winked. "Et's 'bout time 
some of us was gettin' spoiled. We didn't 
get none of et when we was young. Why, I 
wasn't as old as Jimmy an' not more'n a slip 
o' his size when I shipped aboard the 
Fuchsia out o' Portland fer Singapore. 
Dave Martin was our skipper, an' he was the 
biggest, strongest, hardest man thet ever 

" and Cap'n Ed spun a yarn about his 

maiden voyage under this burly bully, a wild 
sea story with a mutiny because of bad food 
and harsh treatment and a storm that car- 
ried away two of the vessel's four masts in 
it. By the the time the schooner Fuchsia 
dropped her anchor safely in Singapore 
Harbor, the little Sail]/ L was nosing her 
way among the other lobstering craft in the 
Southwest Cove. 

Ten minutes later we had everything ship- 
shape. As we unloaded the bait tub with 
the lobsters at the wharf, I began to thank 
my skipper. 

"Don't you say a word," he interrupted. 
"I'm alluz glad to hev you come along. Et's 
tolerable lonesome haulin' a line of pots 
marnin' after marnin' all by yourself." 



20 



Bewitched Gold 

JOHN SYLVESTER sat bolt upright in 
bed. 

"Marthy, Marthy !" he whispered hoarsely, 
shaking his wife's angular shoulder. 
"Marthy, I hed a dream !" 

Martha Sylvester grunted and rolled over, 
turning her back on her excited spouse. 
Her John was given to dreaming dreams, 
and besides, having put up three dozen 
glasses of apple jelly that day, she was very 
tired. 

"Marthy," he persisted, thrumping her 
timidly on the back, "I hed a dream," and 
since this had no effect, he added boldly, 
"I'm goin* t' Portland in the inarnin\" 

Roused by this display of unusual energy, 
Martha turned over and asked sharply, 
"Be ye?— what fer?" 

"I hed a dream, I tell ye. Do y' 'member 
thet pirate chap come t' the house when Len 

21 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

an' me was boys an' got Father t' row him 
over t' Pond Island?" 

Martha had heard the story of the 
swarthy gentleman with the red bandanna 
and the bobbing gold earrings at least a 
thousand times, and already she suspected 
the burden of this dream. 

"Wal," continued John in aspirate whis- 
pers, " I seen him and Injun Bessie lifting 
a big iron chest out of the ground, plain's 
the nose on your face, an' et was full of gold. 
I cal'late Injun Bessie '11 be able t' tell whar 
thet pirate treasure's buried on Pond Is- 
land." 

"I cal'late eff thet pirate weren't able V 
find et himself, thar ain't no Injun fortin 
teller kin tell whar et be." 

"Wal, I'm goin' up t' see her anyway." 

"I jest thought thet y' might be goin' up 
t' get a berth on Frank Sterling's smack." 

"Mabbe I will," John agreed cheerfully. 

"Mabbe y' won't," answered Martha 
shortly, and then she added coaxingly, "Sam 
Johnson says the mac'rel's runnin' good. 
They hed a thirty -two dollar share last trip, 
an' only three days out." 

"I know et, an' mabbe I'll go fishin' after- 
wards, but I must see Injun Bessie furst." 

22 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Martha grunted and rolled over again. 

"Be George goin' t' Portland in the marn- 
in'?" asked John. 

"Dunno, but Ed Green be," and in another 
minute the sound of Martha's deep breath- 
ing, as slow and regular as the swish of the 
surf through the Mink Rocks, filled the little 
room. But John did not go to sleep again. 
He had built his castle out of pirate gold so 
many times that he had become an expert 
architect, and he skipped over such simple 
chateaux as the ownership of a full rigged 
sloop or of Moody's general store. He 
moved entirely away from Bailey's Island 
up to Portland, into a splendid brownstone 
house on State street with a close cropped 
lawn, a wonderful fountain, with pond lilies 
and gold fish, and a great lead dog out in 
front. He saw himself in a snowy white 
stock and black coat like Judge Baxter's and 
a stovepipe hat, shinier than Mr. Deering's, 
strolling down Exchange street, "John Syl- 
vester" no longer, but "Mr. Sylvester, sir." 
He would be all he was not now, a respected 
man of importance to whom everyone would 
listen attentively when he gave his valued 
opinion on the cause of storms and the best 
way to break up a setting hen. He would 

23 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

probably become president of the First 
National Bank, and bis fellow islanders 
would come to bis big office, very respectful, 
twisting their sea caps in their hands, to 
pledge their little homes and garden patches 
against the chances of the fisherman's busi- 
ness. He would make that storekeeper 
Moody sweat for having refused him further 
credit, and he would foreclose the mortgage 
on Ed Green's house to teach him to laugh 
at his expert methods of dissuading an old 
Plymouth Rock from hatching out fourteen 
good, edible eggs. 

He remembered now that he was going up 
to Portland with Ed in his dory that morn- 
ing, and he stretched his long neck to see if 
it was light enough to make out the mirror 
of the little dressing stand across the room. 
A cock crowed somewhere, and the wash of 
the little waves against the cove's shelly 
beach told that the tide had turned. It 
must be about three o'clock, but Ed would 
hardly start before four. He wished to see 
his watch, but was afraid to get up lest he 
disturb Martha. And, oh yes, Martha and 
he would do better together after he found 
his fortune. He would be master in his own 
house and she would stop her slurs and 

24 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

nags. So, he lay there, waiting for daylight 
and feeding his little sonl with big thoughts. 

At last the mirror showed a luminous, 
silvery square in the dark corner. John 
slipped out of bed, tiptoed over to his 
clothes, and crept cautiously down stairs. 
He threw some wood in the stove and put 
the coffee on to boil while he dressed by the 
ruddy light that glowed through the black 
frets of the stove drafts. He fried himself 
a couple of eggs, ate hurriedly in noisy 
silence, and then, stuffing a couple of great 
hunks of bread and three doughnuts into 
his pocket and counting out three dozen eggs 
into a paper bag, he slipped out the back 
door and walked with great shuffling strides 
over to Ed Green's little house. A bright 
light shone in the kitchen and John knocked 
at the kitchen door. 

"Come in 1" roared a big voice, and John 
opened the door a crack and stuck his head 
through. "Marnin', John, marnin'. Been't 
y' up prutty early?'" 

"Be y' goin' t' Portland?" 

Ed Green nodded into his coffee cup. 

"Kin I come." 

"Sartinly," and Ed went back to his eggs 
and coffee. His wife nodded kindly to 

25 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

John and pointed to a chair. He slipped 
into the room and sat down by the door. 

"Bin breakin' up — any — settin' hens 
lately?'' Ed asked between rnouthfuls. 

"Nope," replied John shortly, and Ed 
laughed while his wife snickered. 

"I cal'late t' ask y' t' come over an' try 
your hand breaking up them spar'rs thet's 
nestin' on ourn front porch," Ed said ser- 
iously. "They make a heap o' mess." 

John Sylvester deigned no answer, and 
after this conversation between them lagged. 
John silently helped load four barrels of lob- 
sters into the dory and silently helped cast 
off. Once out of Johnson's Cove and running 
along the outside of Bailey's Island, he 
stretched himself out on the cross seat and 
again began to dream. Nobody ever paid 
(much attention to John Sylvester, and there 
w r as a spanking breeze, so Ed Green had 
plenty to do with his pipe and his main- 
sheet and his tiller. He noticed Sam Pet- 
tingill on Cliff Island was painting his 
house and he marveled at the number of lob- 
ster buoys in the shallows round the Step- 
ping Stones, but, though he did speculate a 
bit on the probable market price of lobster, 
still most of the time he was fully occupied 

26 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

with his boat. She danced over the spark- 
ling water, and, despite the September blow 
and the foamy white caps, he steered her 
over the shorter course, outside Long Island, 
then by Pumpkin Nob, through the Koads 
into the harbor. He liked to feel the pull of 
the tiller and he enjoyed the plunge of the 
dory over the waves and the reckless dip of 
her gun'ale awash. 

After they made fast alongside Trefe- 
then's Wharf and the lobsters were un- 
loaded, John broke the long silence by ask- 
ing when they would start back. " 'Bout 
elev'n," Ed replied, and John nodded and 
stalked off. 

As he left the wharf he glanced at the big 
clock over the Custom House. He would 
have an hour and a half. He sold his eggs at 
Boyce's, and with thirty-six cents tickling in 
his pocket, set out to learn his fortune. He 
knew very well where Injun Bessie lived in 
a little shack behind Mr. Longfellow's great 
house, and he went straight to this shrine. 
As he drew near to the rude, unpainted cot- 
tage, however, his long steps began to falter. 
He remembered Deacon Orr's thundered 
sermon against witchcraft. He recalled 
that everyone said that Injun Bessie had 

27 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

entered into an unholy, carnal alliance with 
the Evil One himself. George Sinnott's first 
wife, Charity Skillings, had been bewitched 
by an Indian fortune teller and had gone 
clean out of her senses and jumped over- 
board. All his little courage oozed away in 
cold sweat, but he pulled himself together 
with the memory of his golden dream and 
rapped lightly at the door. It opened almost 
under his timid touch and old Injun Bessie 
peered out at him. Hers was not a pretty 
face, all brown and wrinkled like a dried 
cherry, with a great hooked nose and a sharp 
hooked chin, and black, beady eyes that 
glowed under her heavy eyebrows. 

"What want?" she demanded in a hollow, 
guttural voice. 

"I — I want my fortune told," gasped 
John. 

"Huh," she grunted, and opening the 
door beckoned to him mysteriously. She 
pointed to a room off the dark hallway and , 
John stepped gingerly in. By all rules 
this should have been the best parlor of the 
house, but what a best parlor! The floor 
was strewn with hides, deer, moose, and 
bear; and on the walls hung more hides, 
wampum belts, long strings of conch shells, 

28 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

stone hatchets and knives with clam shell 
blades, head-dresses of feather, and charms 
of heron wings, and curiously worked spirit 
bags. In the center of the room was a low 
table covered with a black cloth on which 
stood a great rock crystal, rough and jagged, 
that glistened in the dull light. The old 
squaw motioned him to a stool beside the 
table and sat down opposite him. 

"Wampum," she said harshly, and John 
handed her a quarter. 

"More wampum !" but he shook his head. 

"More wampum !" she repeated so savage- 
ly that he hastily drew the ten-cent piece 
and the new penny out of his pocket and 
gave them to her, spreading out his hands 
as a sign he had no more. 

Old Bessie looked at the money critically 
and thrust it in her bosom. She stretched 
her bony hands out on the table, and, as 
if in silent prayer, closed her eyes and bowed 
her head. The wiid thought that she was 
communicating with her satanic lover 
rushed into John's head, and he wished him- 
self well out of the whole wicked business. 
The old hag's body swayed slowly back and 
forth, back and forth, and she burst sudden- 
ly into a shrill falsetto chant that sent shiv- 

* 29 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

ers down lier victim's long spine. As sud- 
denly as she began she stopped, swaying and 
singing and with wide, staring eyes gazed 
at the block of crystal. 

"Me see," she said abruptly, and her voice 
was high and cracked, hard to understand, 
"wood canoe with wings — you and other 
brave come Portland — other brave, red hair, 
his canoe — me see other brave, baby — live 
little island — play nine brothers and two 
sisters — all play." She clutched the black 
cloth in her thin fingers "Me see too, you 
and brave go same island — shovels — dig — 
big chest — chest full gold — heaps gold, 
heaps wampum." She raised her eyes from 
the crystal and looked straight at the tremb- 
ling John. Slowly, in her deep, guttural 
voice, she continued, "He no find; you no 
find ; both find." She blinked her eyes and 
shook her head fretfully. "Go," she said, 
rising and pointing to the door. 

Outside in the bright light John blinked 
and rubbed his eyes. What did it all mean? 
She spoke of the same square chest he had 
seen in his dreams. The red-haired brave 
who had brought him to Portland in a 
winged canoe was surely Ed Green. He 
and his nine brothers and two sisters had 

30 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

been born on Pond Island. Pond Island! 
It was to Pond Island that bis father had, 
many years ago, taken the swarthy stranger. 
Everyone had always said that the pirate 
Lowe had buried three kettles of bar silver 
and great chest of gold and jewels, taken 
from the Spanish galleon Don Pedro del 
IMontclova, on Pond Island. It was all per- 
fectly clear now — he stumbled over a box 
of codfish in the packing room on Trefethen's 
Fish Wharf. He went down on the dock 
and scrambled aboard the dory. The idea 
that neither he nor Ed Green could find the 
treasure except in partnership worried him. 
He mistrusted his ability to drive a fair bar- 
gain with the shrewd, red-headed Ed, and 
for an hour he sat in the broiling sun beside 
the smelly fish wharf, puzzling over this 
problem. 

Finally, Ed Green returned in a talkative 
good humor. He had met friends in the city, 
and, as they beat out of the harbor, he es- 
sayed several tempting topics of conversa- 
tion. Getting nothing but grumpy mono- 
syllables out of his companion, he began to 
chaff him again about his setting hens. 

"Y' ain't figgered no way t' break up a 
settin' niac'rel, hev ye?" he jeered. "Don't 

31 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

s'pose thet system o' yours ud work on fish, 
ud et?" 

"Y's born on Pond Island, weren't ye?" 
answered John. 

Ed Green looked at him in blank astonish- 
ment. Fearing a trap, he asked cautiously, 
"Y> know et, don't ye?" 

"I jest wanted t' make sure." 

"Wal, I'll be durned !" ejaculated the skip- 
per, and for the next fifteen minutes devoted 
his attentions exclusively to the dory. His 
companion's next speech startled him even 
more. 

"Ed, I'll guve ye a hundred dollars t' 
come t' Pond Island an' dig fer buried gold 
with me." 

"You'll what? Pshaw, y' ain't got no 
hundred dollars." 

"I will hev, won't I, when I git the gold?" 

"Why not go halves?" 

"Nope, I guve y' a hundred dollars," and 
then after a long pause, "I'll guve y' two 
hundred dollars." 

"What set y' thinkin' o' diggin' fer gold 
on Pond Island?" asked the keen Ed. 

"Ain't y' never heerd thar's gold thar?" 

"Yep — pirate named Lowe weren't et? 
When I's a b'y thar used t' come crazy folks 

32 




PUMPKIN KNOB 




DIAMOND ISLAND 



CAS CO BAY YARNS 

asking Pap t' let 'em dig fer gold. He never 
set no store by et. What guve y' the 
notion?" 

Little by little he wormed the whole story 
out of John Sylvester, till when they parted 
at his little dock, he knew every detail from 
the mysterious dream to Injun Bessie's cryp- 
tic message. His parting shot was, " 'Pears 
t' me as eff bom thar guve me more'n rights 
than y' hev but I'll go halves." To which 
John replied doggedly, "I'll guve ye five 
hundred dollars." 

For very different reasons neither treas- 
ure hunter confided in his wife — Ed Green 
because it never occurred to him to consult 
with his patient, insignificant partner; John 
Sylvester because he knew any suggestion of 
a partnership between himself and Ed would 
bring forth a flood of sarcasm comparative 
of his and Ed's business ability and the dole- 
ful prophecy that he would be neatly cheat- 
ed by his slick colleague. He had a sneak- 
ing feeling this might happen, but he made 
a practice of putting unpleasant alterna- 
tives from his mind. Ed Green dismissed 
the whole matter by mentioning casually 
that "thet fool John is goin' diggin' fer pi- 
rate gold on Pond Island." "Land sakes! 

33 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

Do tell now," was Mrs. Green's only com- 
ment. Mrs. Sylvester, however, was regaled 
with a boastful account of Bessie's strong 
confirmation of the dream, an account that 
bristled with all the eerie horrors of her 
mummeries and which made clear the cour- 
age and superiority of one John Sylvester. 
Whatever her doubts might have been about 
the truth of the compliments from the spirit 
world with which John garnished his tale 
for her special benefit, Martha was at least 
sufficiently impressed to make no objections 
to his going over to Pond Island that night 
to hunt for the treasure. Fifteen years of 
married life had. convinced her that unless 
there was a sudden stroke of good fortune 
(and there were no rich relatives in either 
branch of the family ) her John would never 
make much of a mark. As a good Christian 
she disliked entangling alliances with Black 
Art and as a proper sensible body she put no 
trust whatever in the word of witches, but 
then everyone knew there was gold on Pond 

Island somewhere, and maybe 

So, after dark, John took pick and spade, 
a couple of gunny sacks and a lantern, and 
crept stealthily down to his punt in the 
cove. It was a cold and blustry September 

34 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

night, and he was sure no lovers would sit 
on the sea rocks to watch the cold sliver of 
a fall moon, so he felt certain nobody would 
see him as he rowed over to Pond Island, a 
couple of miles seaward. Wind and tide 
were both against him. It would be a long, 
hard pull. He picked out a clump of pines 
besides Will's Cut to steer by and fell into 
the islander's short, choppy stroke that kept 
the blunt nose of the punt poking into the 
incoming waves. Three or four times he 
twisted 'round to see how much clearer the 
ragged outlines of little Pond Island were 
becoming, but most of the time he kept his 
eyes fixed on the thwart under his feet. 
He whistled a jerky jig tune to keep up his 
spirits, for the spell of the ugly prophetess 
who had sent him upon this strange business 
was still upon him, and the wind that whis- 
tled over the black waters was full of 
strange noises he did not want to hear. 

When he came under the lee of the island 
he carefully nosed his way between the rocks 
and beached the punt in a sandy inlet. He 
dragged his little craft above the fringe of 
dried seaweed that marked the limit of high 
water and picked up his tools. Except for 
an indistinct picture of a little hollow from 

35 



CASCO BAT YARNS 

whence in Ms dream he had seen the pirate 
and the squaw lift the treasure chest, he had 
no clue of where he should go to work. The 
island was not large, but it was big 
enough to have securely hidden the pirates' 
loot from a score* of industrious searchers. 
Rumor said Lowe had dropped the kettles 
of silver into an old pond that had original- 
ly given the island its name, and the meadow 
that was its now dry bottom was marked 
with four deep pits, relics of fruitless treas- 
ure-hunting expeditions. John Sylvester 
had no mind to work such well-tilled fields. 
He wanted the iron-bound chest full of gold 
and jewels, and it was always said the 
pirates had buried this on the southern side 
of the island. 

Half unconsciously, therefore, he set off to 
the right, scrambling over rocks that each 
Spring and Fall served as his blind on duck 
shooting expeditions. He peeped over every 
boulder and swung his lantern above every 
crevice but the flickering light only revealed 
an endless succession of likely hiding places, 
and he crossed the whole southern side of the 
island without determining upon the most 
likely. He came back, ploughing through 

36 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

the coarse grass and little stunted cedars be- 
hind the rocky shore. 

As he descended a little slope, his foot 
slipped and he, his lantern, and his digging 
tools all came clattering to the ground. The 
lantern rolled beside his foot. He reached 
to pick it up, but with a yell of terror sprang 
to his feet. There, by the lantern, lay a 
skull, a human skull. ^Bleached' snow white 
by the sun and salt water, it glistened by 
the upturned lantern, grinning at him grew- 
somely. He must have stepped on the dread- 
ful thing. His tight-drawn nerves jumped 
and his teeth chattered. Grabbing his pick 
and spade and securing the lantern with a 
wild lunge, he turned to flee, when sudden- 
ly he came to a full stop. Here was a sign. 
He looked about eagerly. He was in the 
very hollow of his dream. He set the lantern 
carefully on a stone, and with his shovel 
charily picked up the skull and flung it over 
the ridge. A hollow splash told him it had 
landed far over the rocks in the water. Then 
with pattering heart he began to dig fever- 
ishly. The ground was coarse sand, and 
soon he was standing knee deep in a shal- 
low pit. Under the sand he found a bed of 
crushed shells, damp and hard-packed, and 

37 



CASCO BAT YARNS 

he plied the pick to loosen them. He shoveled 
out the loosened shells and again began to 
pick. With his first mighty blow his pick 
struck something hard that gave forth a dull, 
hollow sound. He raised his pick to strike 
again. A deep groan froze him motionless, 
paralyzed with fear. He strained to listen, 
but heard only the thumping of his own 
heart and the splash of the little waves 
against the rocks. 

"Shucks!" he said aloud, reassuringly, 
" 'tain't nawthin'." 

He brought down his pick. Again the 
blood-curdling groan echoed his blow. He 
clutched his heart to keep it from bursting. 
Unmistakably the groan came from over the 
rocks where he had thrown the skull. For 
a breathless second he stood there, and then 
a deep, sepulchral voice asked, "Who's that 
digging up my gold?" 

John fled. He rushed up the little hill, he 
stumbled and fell, on again, he ripped his 
clothes in the thickets and tore his hands 
in the briars, but on he rushed blindly, and 
at last he reached the punt. Jumping in he 
rowed for Bailey's Island in a fury of fear. 
He leaped ashore, without making the punt 
fast he ran up the hill, burst into his home, 

38 



CA8C0 BAY YAENS 

and not till he was safe in his own bright, 
warm kitchen did he stop. 

"John, y' found et !" exclaimed Martha. 

"No, no," he shrieked and then he in- 
coherently jabbered out his wild tale. 

There was no sleep in the little house 
that night. John gradually calmed down, 
and told and retold the night's adventures, 
each time adding more illuminating details, 
while Martha, startled out of her skeptical 
senses, became at each telling more and more 
credulous. 

" 'T ain't no good comes of sich hanted 
gold nohow," she said philosophically, as 
she blew out the spluttering lamp, for the 
sun was beginning to peer through the sea 
mists over the horizon. 

"Nope, 'tain't," John agreed. 

"Look at Enos Swett over by Harps well. 
The gold he dug up under his barn never did 
him no good, did et? — filled a drunkard's 
grave, didn't he?" John nodded, and she 
continued, " 'Pears like buried gold's alius 
b' witched. 'Tain't fit fer a good Christin t ? 
hev nawthin' t' do with et. Et's jest a 
temptation of the world and the devil." 

John looked out of the little window. 

39 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Pond Island stood out a dark blotch in the 
pearly haze. He shivered. 

"Marthy," he said suddenly, "let's go t' 
Portland this winter. I'll work in the store 
with Len." 

Their breakfast, a few minutes later, was 
interrupted by a loud knock at the door. 
Martha found her voice first, and called 
weakly, "Who's there?" 

For answer the door was flung open and 
Ed Green stepped in. 

"Marnin'," he bellowed. "Say, John, I 
come over t' find eff y' ain't willin' t' devide 
even. Mabbe after thinkin' et over " 

John stirred his coffee nervously and an- 
swered without looking up, "I don't cal'late 
t' go t' Pond Island fer nawthinV' 

"Y' don't, why " 

"John went over last night an' it's hant- 
ed," broke in Martha. "He seen a ghost." 

"Git out!— y' didn't?" 

"Yep, I did," and John told his new story 
in the latest revised edition. Ed Green sat 
opposite him, drinking in every word, nod- 
ding wisely and sympathetically at the most 
grewsome details, and when the speaker had 
finished he leaned back in his chair. 

"Wal, I'll be durned!" he ejaculated, and 

40 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

then lie added eagerly, "John, et bears out 
jest what Injun Bessie said thet y' couldn't 
find et alone. Now, eff me and y' was t' go 
over together " 

John shook his head. "I ain't goin' t' set 
foot on Pond Island again." 

Ed threw back his head and roared with 
laughter, "Why, y' pore sculpin, et was me." 

John shook his head incredulously, 
"Nope," he said, " 'tweren't ye." 

" 'Twas too. I cal'lated t' slip over an' 
find the gold fer myself, an' when I landed 
I seen your light, an' I started t' spy on ye. 
Then I thinks y' might find the chest some 
time when I weren't thar t' watch ye, so I 
scared y 'off. Y' sartinly was scared," and 
he chuckled at the memory of the lanky fig- 
ure fleeing across the island. 

"Nope," said John stoutly, "I ain't goin' 
t' Pond Island no more," and he added, a 
new resolution ringing in his voice, "I ain't 
goin' t' hunt fer no more pirate gold no- 
where." 



41 



Tainted Money 

CAP'N HARLOW felt very conspicuous 
as lie held the bridle of the docile, 
black Nellie, standing patiently in the gate 
of the cemetery, and he wished that his 
women-folks would hurry up and come 
along. He knew very well that the Skill- 
ings kinsmen and friends, solemnly collect- 
ing in a little group just inside the gate, 
looked at him askance. The Cap'n turned 
his back squarely on them, but, though his 
eyes roved over the familiar cluster of neigh- 
boring islands whose grey rocks and dark 
pines stood out so boldly in the spring sun- 
light against the blue waters of Casco Bay, 
he could picture their glances in his direc- 
tion, their sly nudges, their knowing nods. 
It had been a splendid burying. Although 
for twenty years they had been bitter ene- 
mies, even Cap'n Harlow could not but ac 
knowledge that Norman Skillings had been 

42 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

laid to rest in proper style. Every Skillings 
and every Skillings supporter on the Island 
was at the funeral of their leader, and the 
Cap'n was there all alone in the midst of the 
enemy. He had not a friend or a follower, 
except Ma and Joanna, and the way they 
were hobnobbing with the Skillingses, he 
began to doubt their loyalty. His wife's 
mother's mother, he rememberd, had been 
Eunice Skillings, and Joanna — well, since 
Joanna had fallen in love with young Nor- 
man Skillings he had good reason to know 
that her loyalty was not to be counted on. 
Yet it was partly because of his daughter's 
Skillings lover that he had come to the 
funeral. 

Someone in the group inside the gate 
snickered, and the Cap'n thought suddenly 
that his motives might be misunderstood — 
that the Island would think his women folks 
had brought him against his will. The Island 
would think nothing of the kind, for the old 
sea captain had a reputation as a tight- 
fisted, hard-headed martinet who ruled his 
gentle little household as he had ruled his 
rough crews with a short temper and a 
strong will. He heard the snicker again. 

43 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

His fist closed instinctively, and lie muttered 
something about "smashing a couple of fool 
heads. " A hand was laid on his shoulder, 
and he wheeled around so quickly he almost 
threw the Rev. Mr. Brigham off his feet. 
He touched the edge of his hat, sailor fash- 
ion, apologetically 

"I am glad, very glad indeed, Captain, 
that you came to-day." Cap'n Harlow 
growled something in his great, gray beard, 
but the pastor continued in his careful, wav- 
ering voice. "I consider it a very brave 
thing you've done, a very brave thing. 'He 

that overcometh himself " and Mr. 

Brigham smiled professionally. He was not 
very tactful, but he meant well. "I am 
proud of you, Captain, and proud to have 
helped you in your spiritual battles." He 
wrung the astonished sailor's hand. 

Had Mr. Brigham known the diverse men- 
tal processes by which Cap'n Harlow had 
reached his decision to attend the funeral 
of his old enemy he would not have felt so 
proud, but he not unnaturally took most of 
the credit unto himself. The bitter dissen- 
sion that rent his little flock in twain was a 
sore trial to the good man. The cause of 
the feud was a purely academic question 

44 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

touching the literary methods of Harriet 
Beecher Stowe, but its results were bane- 
fully practical. Mr. Brigham often wished 
that a less vivid pen had written "The Pearl 
of Orr's Island", or, at least, that Mrs. 
Stowe had chosen another setting for her 
story of the Maine coast. There was, how- 
ever, no mistaking the setting, and out of 
this the feud that divided Orr's Island had 
grown. Before summer visitors began com- 
ing to Casco Bay, it was a matter of family 
pride on Orr's Island not to have been used 
as a model for a character in "The Pearl". 
The Harlows were proudest of all of having 
been too responsible people with whom to 
take literary liberties. After the summer 
people came, it was a matter of financial 
benefit to be able to claim connection with 
characters or scenes in the book. The Skill- 
ingses, owners of the cove where the Pearl 
was washed ashore after the wreck, profited 
most by their literary relics. 

The sudden death from apoplexy of Nor- 
man Skillings seemed to Mr. Brigham an 
opportunity for peace not to be neglected, 
and he went to the Cap'n, the leader of the 
Harlows, to try to persuade him to come to 
the funeral. While the Cap'n sat, silent and 

45 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

skeptical, in his uptilted chair on the veran- 
dah of his little house above the steamboat 
wharf, Mr. Brigham pleaded eloquently for 
brotherly love, but he left without receiving 
much satisfaction from the old sailor. After 
his pastor had gone, However, Cap'n Harlow 
thought over what he had said. He had 
had no idea that the Skillingses had made as 
much as three hundred dollars a season for 
charging admissions to see the Smuggler's 
Cave: as Mr. Brigham said, there was no 
use in carrying the fight beyond the grave : 
Ms father had been an old humbug, but there 
was nothing against young Norman: he 
would go to the burying just to show he 
didn't care what they thought of him. 

Knowing nothing of this line of the 
Cap'n's reasoning, Mr. Brigham, when he 
found him waiting after the funeral at the 
cemetery gate, decided to still further im- 
prove the pacific opportunity. "It's too bad," 
he began hesitatingly, after a few nervous 
generalities about the prospect for summer 
boarders, "about — er, about Norman Skill- 
ings' death, isn't it?" 

" 'Tain't a great loss, as I see et," snapped 
the Cap'n. 

Mr. Brigham cleared his throat. This 

46 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

was certainly an inauspicious beginning. 
"Well, now — er, I wouldn't say that. He 
was a — urn, a respected member of the 

Church." 

"A respected old humbug," cut in Cap'n 

Harlow. 

There was an awkward pause during 
which the Cap'n tugged at the unaccustomed 
stiff collar around his stout neck and the 
minister sent up a prayer for guidance. 

"I'm surprised to hear you speak so," the 
pastor said -at length, "very much surprised, 
and grieved. I was in hopes that — er, that 
what I had said the other day to you had in- 
duced you to forget and forgive." The Cap'n 
merely grunted, and Mr. Brigham went on. 
"And I must say, Cap'n, that it seems to me 
merely vindictive of you to— er, to carry 
on your quarrel after Norman ^killings' 
death. Remember 'vengeance is mine, saith 

the Lord' !" 

" 'Tain't a quarrel ; et's a matter of princi- 
ple," the Cap'n returned stoutly. "I've alius 
held, Mr. Brigham, thet a woman, who could 
write 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' wouldn't need to 
take no people she knew an' put 'em in 'The 
Pearl of Orr's Island'. She'd hev brains 

47 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

enough to make the hull thing up outer her 
head, wouldn't she?" 

"It seems likely," agreed Mr. Brigham. 

"Thar never was," continued the Cap'n 
positively, "no such real people as the Pearl, 
or Cap'n Kitt' ridge, or Aunt Ruey on Orr's 
Island, an' them 's claims they is characters 
in the book, or kin t' characters in et is 
fools, or worse!" 

"Yes, yes," put in Mr. Brigham, "but it 
does seem it might be possible for us to 
hold different opinions as to how Mrs. Stowe 
wrote the book without going to the ex- 
tremes that some of us have in the past. I 
remember, when I was at college, my room- 
mate and I used to debate warmly on 
whether Shakespeare or Bacon wrote the 
plays, but we remained the best of friends." 

"Your friend didn't claim to be the orig- 
inal of Hamlet, did he?" asked the Cap'n 
with a twinkle in his eye. 

"Of course not — that would have been ab- 
surd." 

"Thet's just my p'int," exclaimed the 
Cap'n triumphantly. "Now, ever since the 
summer folk's been comin' to the Island, 
Norman Skillings's been claiming he was the 
original of " 

48 




BUG LIGHT AND PORTLAND HARBOR 




OLD FORT SCAM MEL 



CAS CO BAY YARNS 

"Yes, I know," interrupted Mr. Brigham 
hurriedly, "but he's dead now. Why not let 
by-gones be by-gones?" The Cap'n did not 
deign to reply and Mr. Brigham began on 
another line. "You have divided the whole 
Island into two warring camps." 

"Yep," agreed the sailor, not without a 
touch of pride. "A'most everyone's in et." 

"It's most unfortunate," mused Mr. Brig- 
ham guilefully, "that you and Norman Skill- 
ings, heads of the two most important fam- 
ilies on the Island, should lead the fight. 
It's a grave responsibility, Captain, a very 
grave responsibility. Just look at the 
Church. You and the Skillings won't even 
sit on the same side of the aisle. Even the 
children won't be in the same Sunday 
School classes." 

"Don't the Bible say children should hon- 
or their father and their mother even unto 
the third and fourth generation?" 

Mr. Brigham resented having his favorite 
weapon in argument turned against him in 
this disconcerting fashion, and he replied 
somewhat testily, "To be sure, but it also 
says that a house divided against itself shall 
fall." 

" 'Pears to me," the Cap'n remarked, 

49 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

"thet's just why the children should go with 
their parents." 

"But do consider the Church," the pastor 
broke out piteously. "It is divided against 
itself. You won't work together. Every- 
thing is getting behind. Why we even have 
to have two fairs and two strawberry festi- 
vals and two Sunday School picnics — one 
of each for you, and one for the Skillings." 

"Why not?" the Cap'n asked innocently 
enough. He was beginning to enjoy this 
interview and he had forgotten Ma and 
Joanna talking with the Skillings in the 
cemetery. 

"All you come to -church for, I do believe, 
is to pick on what your minister says as an 
argument in your fight." 

"We all have our trials, Mr. Brigham," 
Cap'n Harlow replied piously, but his blue 
eyes twinkled under his bushy brows 

"Come, Captain," the pastor continued, 
"let us forget our past differences. They 
don't make any difference now, do they?" 

"They don't!" The Cap'n' s eyes flashed 
angrily again. "They don't? It's no differ- 
ence to bamboozle the summer folks outer 
"hundreds of dollars, charging ten cents to 
see the cove where the Pearl was washed 

50 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

ashore, when you know's well .as me thar 
weren't never no such person as the Pearl 
to be washed ashore anywhere." 

"I don't say that it makes- no difference 
at all. In fact, in view of the — er, disputed 
authenticity of the sites for which admission 
is charged it has seemed to me a reprehensi- 
ble practice, a very reprehensible practice, 
very indeed; but I do say, Captain, that 
from this time forward we should live in 
peace and brotherly love with our neigh- 
bors." 

"I ain't> met much brotherly love in my 
day. I believe in standing up for your rights 
and opinions." 

"Quite right, too," the minister nodded, 
"but now old Norman Skillings is dead, I 
am sure we can persuade his son to give up 
charging admission to the Cove. He seems 
a reasonable young fellow." 

The memory of the unreasonable spirit 
that love of this reasonable young fellow 
had engendered in his daughter, Joanna, 
was in the Cap'n's mind when he answered, 
"I ain't so sure of thet. He'd be a fool to 
give up three or four hundred dollars a sum- 
mer, wouldn't he?" 

"I've understood that young Norman and 

51 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Joanna — er, that is, that Joanna has some 
influence over young Norman Skillings." 

"You've heard more'n I hev," the Cap'n 
snapped. 

"Well, well," flustered Mr. Brighani, seek- 
ing peace, "even if he won't give it up, I 
trust, Captain, that you will do the big, the 
magnanimous thing. I believe your coming 
here is a good omen, a sign, as it were, of 
a new spirit on the Island. You are a 
leader. You can do it, and, as I said at 
first, you have already done a brave thing, 
and I am proud to know you." 

He shook the Cap'n's hand vigorously and 
walked off down the road. The Cap'n 
watched him stalk with dignity down the 
hill. Mr. Brigham's congratulations threw a 
new light on his coming to the funeral. He 
wiggled his feet in his uncomfortable Sun- 
day shoes, and meditatively combed his great 
beard. His former self -consciousness was 
submerged in a warm glow of self-satisfac- 
tion. When Ma and Joanna came up a few 
moments later, he was fairly bursting with 
magnanimity. 

"Here," he said as he helped his wife and 
daughter into the buggy, "you drive hum, 

52 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

I cal'late to walk down with some of the 
b'ys." 

Ma picked up the reins unquestioningly. 
Had he announced that he was going to 
Chicago that, evening — and the announce- 
ment would have been no more startling — 
she would have accepted it as law. Joanna, 
however, was her father's own daughter. 
She feared that it was one of the boys in 
particular that he wanted to see, and, espe- 
cially at this time, she wanted to keep him 
and young Norman away from each other. 
"What," she asked, "are you going to do 
that for?" 

"You and Ma," he replied in an excess of 
good humor, "seemed to find them Skill- 
ingses pretty good comp'ny, an' I just 
thought I'd enjoy a bit of their soci'ty." He 
reached over and gave Nellie's bony haunch 
a slap that sent her rattling down the hill 
at a pace wholly unbecoming to her age 
and the solemnity of the occasion. 

The Cap'n squared his shoulders and turn- 
ing, walked over to the group of Skillings' 
men just itfside the cemetery gate. He went 
straight to Elmer Skillings, brother of his 
deceased enemy, and extending Ms hand, 

53 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

said, "Et was a bang-up burying. Vm glad 
I come." 

The old man was suspicious. "We Skill- 
ingses," lie croaked, "is noted fer bang-up 
buryings. Buryings and marryings we al- 
ways do right," he added proudly. 

"Be you cal'latin' to come to a Skillings 
marrying soon?" one of the young men in 
the back of the crowd asked impudently. 
The implication was plain. The Cap'n' s 
fist clenched and his face turned purple. 
Another of the youngsters spoke up. "Uncle 
Norman could? afford a good burying an' 
they do say thet he's left everything to 
young Norman." 

"I'll hev y'understand," bellowed Cap'n 
Harlow, "I come to this dash-blasted buryin' 
cause Mr. Brigham asked me, an' " 

"Thet's right,' chirped up old Elmer, "he 
spoke to me too. Says 'tain't right not t'be 
neighborly. Don't mind the young 'uns. 
I'm glad y'come. You must come 'round 
when we erect the monument next month." 

Partly mollified and much interested, for 
a tombstone is a matter of family pride and 
the Cap'n feared the Skillingses would try to 
outdo the monument he had erected to his 
brother, he asked, "Hev you ordered et yet?" 

54 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

"Yep — in Portland. A granite pillar, ten 
feet high with a urn and some drapery 
carved on top." 

"Granite," sniffed the Cap'n, " 'tain't as 
pretty as marble." 

"More durable though," the old man de- 
fended. 

One of the young men, smarting under 
the rebuff and longing to reopen hostilities, 
chimed in, "Yes, and thar's goin' t'be a 
grand inscription on et — all about him and 
the Pearl. The 'monument maker made et 
up. 'Here lies Norman Skillings, son of 
Elisha and Effie Ford Skillings, who served 
Harriet Beecher Stowe as the original of 
the character of ' " 

This was too much. "What," roared 
Cap'n Harlow," be you puttin' thet durned 
lie on his tombstone?" 

"Durned lie!" 

Two of the young men sprang at him. 
He threw them off. "'Come on !" he shouted, 
"come on! I said durned lie, an' I meant 
et!" 

At this moment his own nephew drove up 
on the grocery wagon. He sensed the situa- 
tion at a glance and decided that in view of 
the odds discretion were the better part of 

55 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

valor. "Hello, Uncle John," he called, "be 
y' goin' hum? I'll give you a lift." 

Cap'n Harlow waved at him over his 
shoulder. "Come on !" he said to the Skill- 
ings cohorts. "Come on, eff y'want to!" 
No one stirred. "You're a pack of cowards," 
he declared, and turning on his heel, he 
walked away. 

All the way home he fussed and fumed, 
spluttering sea oaths at his unresisting 
nephew and calling down vengeance on his 
enemies. The rejection of his proffered truce 
fanned the flame of his ire, and it was cold 
comfort that not a single Skillings would 
fight, for in his heart he knew the young 
men had only respected his age and that 
they could have given him a terrible trounc- 
ing. At first, he blamed the pastor, but, as 
he neared home, his anger settled on Jo- 
anna. Had it not been for her Skillings 
lover he would never have gone to the bury- 
ing. He thrumped into the house and out 
into the kitchen. Here Joanna was helping 
her mother with dinner. He laid down the 
law to her in no uncertain terms. "Jo," he 
ended, "eff I ketch you so much as lookin' 
at that young Skillings pup I'll spank you, 

56 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

spank you, y' understand, with, my razor 
strop !" 

When he heard of the encounter at the 
cemetery gate Mr. Brigham was most per- 
turbed. His well-laid plan had again come 
to nought. It almost seemed a sore visita- 
tion from the Lord, but he stoutly deter- 
mined to try once again, so he called a sec- 
ond time at the little white cottage above 
the steamship wharf. The Cap'n slammed 
the door in his face. 

This blow, however, was softened for the 
pastor when, upon his return home, he found 
young Norman Skillings nervously perched 
on the edge of one of the horse-haired cov- 
ered chairs in the pastorage parlor, waiting 
to see him. He was not a religious young 
man, less full of piety than of high animal 
spirits that led him into wild pranks, but 
in his trouble he turned naturally to the 
minister as the only neutral on the Island. 
Embarrassed, he shifted from foot to foot 
and his big hands kept slipping in and out 
of his trousers pockets. Mr. Brigham came 
to his rescue with a cheerful, "Did you want 
to see me about something, Norman?" 

"Yes, sir. I — I want to ask your advice 
about — about — you know, Mr. Brigham, Jo- 

57 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

anna Harlow and me's keepin' comp'ny. 
Thet is we'd like to." 

"But the Captain has forbidden it." 

"Yes, sir, an' — an' what kin I do?" he 
blurted out. 

"I'm glad you've come to see me, Norman, 
very glad. It shows a commendable spirit, 
and I think I can help you." 

"Thank you, sir. Yes, sir. O, if you only 
can!" 

"The bone of contention is the Cove which 
your father has exhibited to summer visit- 
ors. You know Captain Harlow thinks this 
wrong." 

"Et's only because he's got no Cove t' 
show," protested the young man. 

"I wouldn't say that. I have — er, had a 
number of talks with the Cap'n and he feels 
strongly, very strongly, and, I believe very 
sincerely on the subject. It has also, I must 
say, seemed to me — I am going to be frank 
with you, Norman, — that there are grounds 
for his feelings. I mean, there is a reason^ 
able doubt whether the so-called Pearl of 
Orr's Island was a real girl, and whether 
the Cove you charge admission to is really 
— you get my point?" 

"No, I don't," young Skillings returned 

58 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

bluntly. "I ain't sayin' there was or there 
wasn't a real Pearl, but the book describes 
the Cove to a T. You can read it yourself." 

"I have, I have," Mr. Brigham nodded, 
"but nevertheless, while the description of 
the Cove is plain enough, still to say the 
girl was actually washed ashore there, and 
for your father to claim to be the original 
of " the clergyman shook his head re- 
gretfully. 

"Didn't Pop look just like the man in the 
book?" The young man was waxing bellig- 
erent. 

"He did, he did; but we must remember 
that the book was written fifty years ago, 
when your father was only fifteen years 
old." 

This was the Cap'n's crushing argument, 
and Norman was silent. He scratched his 
head embarrassed, and finally asked. "What 
would you think I'd best do?" 

"Give up charging to see the Cove." 

"But et brings in four hundred dollars a 
season. The Cove's worth more'n the Scud- 
der." 

"If you would give up charging admission 
to the Cove," said Mr. Brigham in his most 
persuasive tones, "I am sure that the Cap'n 

59 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

would be reconciled to your marrying Jo- 
anna. You have your fishing and your lob- 
ster pots ; you have six acres of good land ; 
you have your new motor boat to take sum- 
mer parties out sailing. You are well off 
without the Cove." 

A frown puckered Norman's forehead. 
"Wal," he drawled, "I'll think et over." 

"It's the Cove or Joanna," were Mr. Brig- 
ham's parting words. 

Norman did think it over, and he decided 
to follow his pastor's advice. He made his 
little announcement, as publicly as possible, 
to the little group of men that gathered 
about the horse shed after church Sunday 
morning. The news spread like wildfire. It 
overtook the Cap'n just as he was picking 
up the reins preparatory to driving off. His 
only comment was a very short, very sar- 
castic "Huh !" But he too, did some hard 
thinking nor did Joanna, even had he been 
of a mind to do so, allow him to forget the 
subject. Nevertheless the reconciliation Mr. 
Brigham had foretold did not materialize. 
In fact, curiously enough, the Cap'n's ire 
against Norman seemed to have risen. He 
changed his favorite epithet from "that 

60 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

young Skillings pup" to "thet durned fool 
Skillings pup." 

Defying the razor strop, Joanna and Nor- 
man met frequently among the great sea 
rocks on the point where the lone cedar 
stands sentinel, and all these things were 
discussed in hushed whispers. Norman 
urged flight to Portland and a secret mar- 
riage ; Joanna begged him to go to the pastor 
again and see what he would advise, and in 
the end Norman went again to the pastor- 
age. 

"He is a proud and stiff-necked man," said 
Mr. Brigham, after the case had been laid 
before him, "and it is hard for him to give 
in. I will pray to the Lord to soften his heart 
towards you, and you go to see him. Tell 
him why you are no longer going to charge 
admission to the Cove. Tell him you are 
through with the tainted money, and ask 
him boldly for Joanna's hand in marriage." 

Mr. Brigham would hardly have followed 
his own advice, but whether Norman was 
more desperate or more courageous, he did 
go to see the Cap'n. He found him in his 
favorite up-tilted chair on the verandah. 
Cap'n Harlow saw him coming and his big 
voice boomed at him as his foot touched the 

61 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

steps. "Come in, Norman, come in. I'm 
glad t'see you." The surprise nearly top- 
pled Norman down the steps. He had 
braced himself to prevent his being thrown 
out. The cordial reception took away his 
breath. He stammered out an incoherent 
greeting. 

"Sit down, b'y, sit down," the Cap'n com- 
manded. "I want t'hev a talk with you." 

Norman sat down weakly on the porch 
railing. All the fine speeches he had 
planned out for this interview were worse 
than useless, but they kept bobbing up in 
his head, and he began, "I've come down 
t'see you, Cap'n, because I want t'hev a talk 
with you." 

"Good," the old sailor thundered enthu- 
siastically. 

This further disconcerted Norman. His 
next speech, carefully planned to meet oppo- 
sition would have been silly, but he finally 
managed to blurt out, "Y'know I've give up 
chargin' t'see the Cove, an' I want t'marry 
Joanna." 

The Cap'n looked at him shrewdly from 
under his heavy eyebrows. "Not so fast," 
he said. "What made you give up chargin' 
fer the Cove?" 

62 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

Mr. Brigham's platitudes, which he had 
planned to use, again popped into Norman's 
head, and he replied, "I've been thinkin' et 
over an' seein' we can't be sure et is the 
identical Cove, et ain't right t'charge the 
summer folks t'see et. Seems like takin' 
money under false pretenses, an' I'm 
through with such tainted money." 

"I couldn't see et myself, but they say 
the description of the Cove fits the book 
pretty well." The Cap'n spoke casually. 

"Et's a'most stealin'," Norman continued. 

"Not eff the summer folks don't kick. 
None of 'em ever kicked thet I heard of." 

"Of course they didn't." Norman, freed 
of the incubus of his planned speeches, was 
himself again. 

"How much did you say the Cove makes a 
season?" the 'Cap'n asked more casually 
than ever. 

"Four hundred dollars on the average." 

" 'Pears like you'd hate t'give up such a 
good thing." 

Norman shot a quick glance at the old 
sailor. "I do hate to," he replied slowly, 
"but — well, you don't like et, and Mr. Brig- 
ham said et was a case of the Cove or Jo- 
anna, an', wal, I'd rather hev Joanna." 

63 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

"Mr. Brigham don't know everything." 

Again the young man glanced at the old 
sailor, and a bright glint began to shine in 
his sparkling eyes. " Seems," he said mis- 
chievously, "like he should know right and 
wrong, bein' a minister." 

"Don't always hold," replied the Cap'n. 

A little creak by the door caught Nor- 
man's attention. Joanna was standing in- 
side the screen door. Norman glanced at 
the Cap'n, but he was sitting where he could 
not see the door and was deep in his 
thoughts, Joanna nodded encouragingly 
and Norman smiled back. 

"Wal," spoke up Norman with a great 
show of decision, "I'm through with et." 
Joanna shook her brown curls vigorously, 
but he finished deliberately, "I don't want 
no tainted money." 

"Tainted money!" the Cap'n's voice 
twanged sarcastically. 

"That's what Mr. Brigham called et." 

"Why," asked the old sailor shrewdly 
after a pause, "don't you let et out?" 

Norman winked at Jo in the doorway 
and saw her white teeth flash a smile at him 
from the shadow of the hall. "I was think- 

64 




THE FISH WHARVES OF PORTLAND 




LIGHTHOUSE TENDER, DIAMOND ISLAND 



CAS CO BAY YARNS 

in'," he drawled slowly, his eyes sparkling, 
"I might get a partner." 

"Thet's a good idea," agreed the Cap'n, 
"then eff you didn't want t'do et yourself, 
you could let your partner run et for you." 

"Yes, and then I could be free t'take the 
summer folks off sailing in the Bcudder. 
Sorter ketchin' 'em comin' an' goin', isn't 
et?" he laughed. 

€ap'n Harlow joined in the laugh. "Et 
is, et is," he agreed. 

"But — " Norman's voice was tragic — 
"but who'd I get for a partner?" 

"Thet shouldn't be so hard." 

Norman did not dare to look at Jo now, 
for fear that he would burst out laughing, 
so he frowned and scratched his head, "I've 
got et," he exclaimed. "My cousin Ed Skill- 
ings." 

"Ed Skillings!" the old man snorted. 
"Thet harum-scarum good-fer-nawthin' ! 
He'd skin you outer most of the money. You 
want," he added confidentially, "an older 
man than Ed. Someone who can spin yarns 
t'the summer folks and sorter drum up 
trade." 

"I cal'late you're right." Again Norman 
thought deeply for several minutes while 

65 



CASCO BAY YAKNS 

the Cap'n fidgeted in his chair. "I suppose," 
Norman said slowly, "et would have t'be 
Uncle Elmer." 

"He's too old," put in the Cap'n. 

"He is pretty feeble, but " Norman 

left the sentence unfinished. After a great 
while he turned to the Cap'n and said, "You 
know, Cap'n, eff you'd do et, you'd be the 
best partner I could get." 

"Me?" the Cap'n protested. 

"Yes, but I don't sup'ose, feelin' as you 
do, you'd want t'do et." 

"I don't know," the Cap'n began slowly, 
"eff you an' Jo was married, " 

Norman sprang to his feet. "Can Jo an.' 
me get married?" he cried. 

"Not so fast, not so fast. I was sayin' eff 
Jo an' you was married. I don't know," he 
added smiling kindly at the young man, "as 
thar's any partic'lar reason agin et. Eff you 
want to." 

"Eff we want to?" 

Jo slipped out of the house and running 
to Norman threw her arms about his neck. 
"Dad," she cried, laughing happily, "don't 
it look as if we wanted to?" 

The front feet of the Cap'n's chair 
thrumped down on the porch. "Huh," he 

66 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

growled, "you sorter took me off watch, you 
two ; but I sup'ose et's all right." 

"Of course, it's all right — now," Jo 
laughed. 

"I sup'ose et is," the Cap'n agreed, tilting 
up his chair again, "but what about the 
Cove?" 

"The Cove," exclaimed Norman, "why I'll 
give you the Cove eff you want et." 

"No, thet wouldn't do. Et would look a 
leetle queer, wouldn't et, t'hev you give me 
the Cove, but," he concluded confidentially, 
"we can go partners on et, can't we?" 

They were interrupted by someone calling 
at the gate, "Hey, be Norman Skillings in 
thar?" It was Almon Doughty in his buggy, 
the only public conveyance on the Island. 
Norman stepped from behind the honey- 
suckle vines to the top of the steps. "Yes," 
he called back, "I'm here. What d'you want, 
Almon?" 

In reply a gentleman hopped out of the 
buggy and opening the gate walked briskly 
up the path. Visitors to the Island a month 
before the season opened were a rare event. 
He was evidently a man who could afford to 
gratify his whims, but he must, as Norman 
whispered to his new partner, "be all fired 

67 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

interested in 'The Pearl of Orr's Island' to 
come out so early in the spring t'see the 
Cove." The 'Cap'n nodded. "Our first cus- 
tomer," he replied, "looks like we was goin' 
t'hev a good season." 

Before Norman could reply the stranger 
was on the steps. He looked the young man 
over from top to toe and then extended his 
hand. "So this is young Norman Skillings, 
eh," he said pleasantly. "You don't look 
much like your father. You don't know 
me?" Norman shook his head and he con- 
tinued. "I suppose not. I'm Mr. Reynolds, 
your father's lawyer." 

A lawyer, his father's lawyer. Norman's 
heart thrumped. He stole a glance at Jo, 
who was looking at the visitor, and then at 
the Cap'n. He was frowning and combing 
his beard. 

"I've been in Boston the past two weeks," 
Mr. Reynolds was saying, "and I've just 
gotten back and heard of your father's 
death, or I should have been out to see you 
before. I've been looking all over the Island 
for you. I must catch the last boat — "he 
glanced at his watch — "for I can't spend 
the night here, but I must see you on busi- 

68 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

ness." He looked inquiringly at Jo and 
Cap'n Harlow. 

"This is Cap'n Harlow," said Norman ner- 
vously, "and — and this is Jo — we — we're to 
get married," he added desperately. 

"Cap'n Harlow," the lawyer acknowl- 
edged the faulty introduction, "and, er — 
Miss Harlow, I suppose. I congratulate 
you — congratulate you all. Of course, un- 
der the circumstances I can speak before — " 
he paused. 

"Yes." Norman's voice was faint. 

"I've come out to see you about your 
father's will," and Mr. Reynolds began fish- 
ing in his pockets for that document. 

Norman's worst fears were realized. "I — 
I didn't know he'd made a will." 

The lawyer laughed. "Of course, he did. 
Everybody, who has anything to leave, 
makes a will. Ah, here it is. Of course, 
you're the only heir." Norman sighed with 
relief ; the Cap'n gulped in a great breath of 
air. "He left you everything, everything 

except " Mr. Reynolds was fussing with 

his glasses while his listeners had grown 
tense again with interest. The lawyer was 
running over the provisions of the will. 
"Left you everything : house, lot, five acres, 

69 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

fishing smack, $6,845.63 and accrued inter- 
est in the Casco Bay Savings Bank, personal 
property, all my goods and chattels, etc. 
And then there's this codicil. It's a most 
remarkable bequest. He came to see me 
about it last fall, and I drew it up for him. 
'Desiring to face my Maker with a clear con- 
science and being anxious that the feud be- 
tween my family and that of Captain John 

Harlow ' " The lawyer stopped and 

looked over his glasses at the Cap'n. "Are 
you," he asked, "Captain John Harlow?" 
The Cap'n nodded and Mr. Reynolds turned 
to Norman, "And you are going to marry his 
daughter, this young lady?" Norman in 
turn nodded. "Um, very remarkable. So 
the feud's over. It makes a curious com- 
plication, doesn't it? But I congratulate you 
again. It's a very sensible thing. My late 
client would be very much pleased." 

The Cap'n could hold in no longer. "What 
about the will?" he shouted. 

"To be sure — I had forgotten. Why, I've 
only ten minutes to catch my boat. Let's 
see, where was I ? O yes, 'between my fam- 
ily and that of Captain John Harlow, I 
hereby give and bequeath the inlet commonly 
known as the Smuggler's Cove and twenty- 

70 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

five feet of land, measured from mean high 
water to the First Church of Orr's Island ; 
the income derived from exhibiting said 
Cove to be employed by the Pastor and 
Deacons of said Church in such way or ways 
as they may deem most fitting for the bene- 
fit of said Church and the Glory of God. 
Amen.' I've fixed up all the papers for the 
transfer of the property to the Church, but 
I must have your signature — here." He 
handed Norman an imposing legal paper 
and pressed a fountain pen in his hand. 

"But " protested Norman. 

"It's all right — quite right. I drew them 
up myself. Just sign here, please." 

And Norman signed the paper on the 
porch railing. In another minute the little 
lawyer was bustling down the garden walk, 
calling his excuses and his adieux over his 
shoulder. 

The trio on the verandah watched Almon 
Doughty's buggy whirl out of sight, and 
then there was a long pause. Jo leaned 
against the railing, looking from her father 
to her lover, a smile struggling at the cor- 
ners of her pretty mouth. Norman avoided 
her eyes, and glanced over at the Cap'n. 
The old sailor looked up at him and his 

71 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

weather beaten face broke into a smile. 
Norman grinned back at Mm sheepishly. 

"I was just thinkm'," chuckled the Cap'n, 
"what Mr. Brigham's goin' t'do with all 
that tainted money." 



72 



The Cruise of the Souse 

NO man ever accused the Souse of being 
an ideal cruiser. The weather-beaten 
old lobster-fisherman summed up popular 
opinion of her when he leaned over the 
wharf at Cliff Island and croaked, "Y'ain't 
got much of a baut, hev ye?" adding with a 
cackle, "I don't cal'late we'll never hear a 
lisp 'bout ye eff y'run into a blow off Small 
Point." 

Only sixteen feet over all and with a cock- 
pit but twelve feet long, the Souse was far 
from a palatial craft. Her little single-cylin- 
der engine suffered alternately from asthma 
and hiccoughs. At best — that is when no 
eel-grass fouled her propeller — she could 
make seven or eight miles an hour. Her 
very name had been bestowed upon her, not 
because of any bibulous habits of her owner, 
but in graceful recognition of her own habit 
of thoroughly wetting her guests with spray 

73 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

in any but the smoothest of smooth water. 
All in all, she was hardly the boat that a con- 
servative or comfort-loving* creature would 
pick out for a pleasure cruise among the 
jagged islands of the iron-bound coast of 
Maine. However, like the horse trader's de- 
crepit, flea-bitten gray mare, "she had her 
good points". Her humble eight-miles-an- 
hour, since we were in no hurry, was fast 
enough. Moreover, we knew that provided 
we did not lead her into too great tempta- 
tion — and we had no intention whatever of 
rounding Cape Small Point or even skirting, 
save in very fair weather, any of the outer 
islands — that she would behave very prop- 
erly. As for her delicious insecurity and 
provoking uncertainty, they but added a 
fillip of excitement, that "sprightly infusion 
of Chance" which Charles Lamb always in- 
sisted was a necessary part of every good 
game and worthy sport. 

Ours was altogether a strange, hybrid ex- 
pedition; neither a cruise down the Maine 
coast nor a camping trip on the wild outer 
islands of Casco Bay, though partaking of 
the nature of each. 

We seemed an ill-assorted pair. The 
Woodser was clad in flannel and khaki, 

74 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

crowned with, a battered felt hat. He in- 
variably called a frying pan a "skillet". The 
Sailor wore duck clothes and a little white 
hat with an abruptly upturned brim, and 
it was a fine point of honor with him to 
speak of the above-mentioned, most import- 
ant cooking instrument as a "spider". 
Afloat, the Sailor, the owner of the Souse, 
was the skipper, and in his landlubberly 
way the Woodser took and obeyed orders. 
Ashore, the Woodser became chief, and the 
Sailor, transformed into chore-boy, must cut 
wood and wash dishes. Nevertheless, al- 
though the Woodser could never tell port 
from sta'b'rd without facing fo'ard and 
counting up, still he at least did not get sea- 
sick; and the Sailor, though he rolled and 
unrolled his blankets twenty times a night, 
was an adept at tent-pitching and fire-build- 
ing. We divided honors and labors, and our 
deep love of the great outdoors, a bond 
stronger than anchor-rope or pack-strap, 
bound us together. 

In the orthodox manner we planned an 
early start ; in the usual manner we did not 
get under way till the sun was high in the 
heavens. A certain disreputable little hatch- 
et, affectionately christened "Sad Axe," 

75 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

lost itself. A fat jug of maple syrup up- 
turned itself and had to be refilled. Our 
whole cargo, much to the delight of our ap- 
preciative audience, fishermen and summer 
folk from the Aucoeisco House, had to be 
moved to fill the gasoline tanks. At last, 
after sundry shifting® of our bulky ballast 
and with no end of capital, gratuitous ad- 
vice from our spectators, we shoved off. 

Putting the sharp nose of the Souse 
straight into the wind, we chugged away, 
bound for the head of Casco Bay, twenty 
miles to the northeast. The brisk wind 
whipped the crest of each wave. Our tiny 
boat plunged and bucked like a bronco. The 
salt spray came flinging over our bows. The 
Woodser, pulling his felt hat down over his 
eyes, buttoned his canvas hunting coat close 
up under his chin, and the Sailor slipped 
into his oilskins. We lighted our pipes and 
then with one accord struck up a rollicking 
ballad. As we lay stretched out in the little 
cockpit, the briny wind whistling a fit ac- 
companiment to our roaring song, we 
ceased to be sober, civilized men. "The dull 
cares of tame, common life" slipped away 
from us. We were as free as the little her- 

76 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

ring gull that skimmed over the sparkling 
white caps. 

A deep-throated "who-o-o-o-o ! who-o-o-o-o !" 
aft of us brought the sixty-second stanza 
of our ditty to an abrupt close. The slatey 
Government tug from Fort McKinley, her 
polished brass flashing in the sun, her red 
mouthed ventilators gaping at us like great 
danger signals, was ploughing along in our 
wake. From the giant dreadnoughts to the 
low-waisted lighthouse tenders, Uncle Sam's 
ships possess the ability to kick up a 
big rumpus in the water, and as we had 
not the least desire to wallow in the tug's 
rolling swell, we put the wheel hard down 
and steered a course just off the shoals of 
Ministerial Island. Here the tug could not 
follow us, and we headed straight for the 
rocky cliffs of Admiral Peary's Eagle Island. 
Saluting the discoverer of the Pole with 
hats and horn, we crawled in behind Mark 
Island, with its solid pyramid of white- 
washed stone that warns the smacks of the 
fishing fleet of the crooked channel that 
leads to the inner bay. Carefully we worked 
through the narrow Jaquish Cut, named 
after the Captain Richard Jaquish, who dur- 
ing the French and Indian War led the 

77 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

sturdy islanders from Casco Bay in the ex- 
pedition against Louisburg. 

Along the outer shore of Bailey's Island 
we slipped, and between Orr's Island and 
Ram Island, just off Lowell's Cove, our en- 
gine died ignobly. The Sailor tightened 
bolts and turned screws, and, after a deal 
of priming and cranking, grumbling and 
grunting, the engine gave a couple of little 
hacking coughs and then spluttered off 
again at a merry rate. 

The wind had died down completely, and 
we slipped quietly in between the long arms 
of Sebascodegan Island that make the beau- 
tiful Quohog Bay. These long, twin points 
of the great island are rounded and wooded 
with birch, maple, and oak, very different 
from the rocky, pine-crowned outer islands 
we had been among all morning. The wide 
sweep of blue water was peaceful and calm. 
All dotted with little round islands and 
flanked by the steep, green banks, it seemed 
curiously like the estuary of some mighty 
river. Above us, blue as turquoise and 
bright as a sapphire, stretched the wonder- 
ful summer sky of Maine, a sky without the 
deep brilliancy of the Mediterranean nor 
the chilly hardness of the Baltic, but, as it 

78 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

has been well called in Casco Bay, a "true 
heavenly blue." 

We crept along under the steep sides of 
Great Yarmouth Island and wormed our 
way up the twisted passage that leads to 
Hen Cove. Here the Artist in his pearly 
Erminie met us and led us between ragged 
rocks on one side and soft mud-bar on the 
other into a little inlet of Great Hen Island. 

"There you are," he called, pointing to a 
grassy knoll at the head of the little cove, 
"there's a dandy camping place. I'll see you 
later," and he swung around and chugged 
off. 

"Hey !" we shouted after him, "come back 
to supper." 

"All right, thanks. Can I bring the 
Critic?" 

"Surelee! About six o'clock." 

"Right you are !" 

He disappeared around the point, and as 
w r e paid out the anchor-rope we could hear 
the put-put-put of his motor getting fainter 
and fainter as he hurried over to Oakhurst 
Island. 

We loaded the punt to the gun'ales and 
went ashore. Then, while the Sailor made 
two more trips out to the Souse after our 

79 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

duffle, the Woodser carried our stuff in in- 
stalments to the crest of the little hill. 
After our goods and chattels were all piled 
in a disorderly heap on the hilltop, we drew 
long breaths and surveyed the ground. The 
Artist was quite right. Here was indeed 
a "dandy camping place." 

The little hillock, covered with fine grass, 
was flattened on top. It rose in the centre 
of a natural triangle, the head of the cove 
forming the base and a V-like notch in the 
pine woods, the two sides. High and dry 
should it rain, yet cosily sheltered by the 
pines from the wind on the north, south and 
east; close to the water where was a safe 
mooring for the Souse and with a bountiful 
supply of good firewood — what more could 
either Woodser or Sailor ask? We set to 
work to make camp. 

After the tent was pitched, while the 
Sailor made blankets, and clothes, and pro- 
visions shipshape, the Woodser, since this 
was to be headquarters for ten days, built a 
stove in the clay bank just above high water 
mark. We were just comfortably settled 
when the Erminie, the Artist and the Critic 
aboard, slid into our little cove. Our guests 
inspected our quarters; the Artist enthusi- 

80 




CAP N KITTERIDGE HOUSE, ORR S ISLAND 




■' -'-■' ■>;-..... 



OLD COMBS HOUSE, QUOHOG BAY 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

astic and envious, the Critic, from force of 
habit probably, skeptically polite. 

"How about supper?" the Sailor sug- 
gested. 

"Bacon and eggs, flapjacks and coffee." 
The Artist counted them off on his fingers, 
smacking his lips and rubbing his tummy. 

"How about beans?" put in the Critic, "I 
always thought beans were a necessary part 
of the rough, simple fare of the backwoods- 
man." 

"Not for supper. Don't display your 
pathetic ignorance," corrected the Artist, 
who delights especially to discover some- 
thing that the Critic does not know. 

"Huh !" grunted the Critic, "I have always 
associated bacon and eggs with breakfast, 
but, of course, just as you say." 

"Here you," called the Woodser from the 
fire by the shore, "stop your squabbling and 
come and eat. You're both wrong." 

We picked out natural arm chairs among 
the rocks, upholstering them with coats and 
sweaters, and the Sailor served the first 
course, a rich, savory clam chowder. 

"Come now," protested the Critic, "this 
isn't fair. We came over here to a regular 
camper's supper. I believe in the fitness of 

81 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

things, and clam chowder in camp — why it's 
like ordering truffles at Child's or an egg 
sandwich at the Kitz !" 

"That mud- bank there," said the Sailor, 
pointing to the edge of the cove at our feet, 
"is literally stuffed with clams. The proper 
use of such a Heaven-sent gift is undoubt- 
edly the making of clam chowder, and the 
Woodser has certainly made it right." 

"May I have a second helping?" asked the 
Artist. 

"The proof of the Chowder " laughed 

the Woodser. 

Afterwards we had frankfurters and 
French fried potatoes, baking powder (bis- 
cuits and coffee, and by special request a 
small batch of pan cakes. But when we 
reached dessert, sliced pineapple, even the 
Artist rebelled. 

"This is an insult," he declared. 

He managed, however, very gracefully to 
swallow the insult. They were not hard- 
ened campers, these guests of ours, or they 
would have known that out of a tin can may 
come many things besides beans — even to 
sliced pineapple. Why the tenderfoot should 
be so everlastingly keen for "the rough sim- 
ple fare of the backwoodsman," beans, pan 

82 



CAS CO BAY YARNS 

cakes, and coffee, is more than the back- 
woodsman himself can fathom. The true 
test of the experienced camper comes at 
mealtimes. If everything comes out of the 
frying pan, you may be sure that he is an 
amateur. Now, of course, there is nothing 
in the world to be said against beans, and 
many the steaming heap of them have we all 
polished off a tin plate. As for flapjacks, 
both the Woodser and the Sailor have with 
such gusto eaten so many of them at one 
sitting so many times that like the Walrus 
and the Carpenter and their poor little Oys- 
ters, we are almost choked with sobs when 
the telltale holes proclaim that Flappy is 
ready to turn and will soon be ready to eat. 
But when the good ship Souse will carry 
your pack on a cruising-camping trip, by all 
means let her do> it, and have fresh fruit and 
cereal for breakfast and cucumber salad and 
cheese for dinner. 

By the time supper things were cleared 
away, the sun had set, and as we stretched 
out on the grass and lighted our pipes, the 
little stars began to twinkle overhead. The 
Artist threw a log on the open fire we had 
built for companionship's sake and as he 
settled himself again asked, "Do you remem- 

83 



CASCO BAY YAKNS 

ber passing the Cedar Ledges this morning?" 

"About half a mile south of the Oak Is- 
land buoy/' answered the Sailor who knows 
the chart of the Bay as a priest knows his 
breviary, "and a right, nasty place in any 
tide." 

"Did you know," continued the Artist, 
"that about fifty years ago* one John Wilson 
of Bailey's Island found an old, rusty iron 
kettle with twelve thousand dollars of Span- 
ish gold in a hole on those ledges?" 

"The smugglers must have sold him an 
extra quality of Jamaica rum," laughed the 
Critic who affects not to believe any story 
of treasure trove. 

The Artist, however, had had the story 
direct from John Wilson's own son and he 
had thrust hisr own hand into the very hole 
whence the pot of gold had been lifted, so 
he was not to be easily discouraged. He told 
how the hard-drinking, ne'er-do-well fisher- 
man had suddenly blossomed out as the 
owner of a full-rigged sloop, purchased in 
Boston, and how, after acquiring several 
farms, he had died full of years and local 
honors, one of the richest and most respected 
men in the Bay. Little by little the strange 
story of his sudden wealth had leaked out. 

84 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

One winter day, when out duck shooting on 
the Cedar Ledges, his foot had slipped into 
a hole from the bottom of which he had 
drawn the old kettle with its rich store. 

After this we all swapped pirate yarns. 

The Woodser told of the rakish brig flying 
the Jolly Roger that, hard pressed by a 
Spanish frigate, had run into the Bay and 
hidden a part of her ill-gotten cargo of gold 
and jewels on Ragged Island. Then the 
Sailor told the grewsome history of the 
smuggler Keiff. This worthy waxed rich off 
the salvage he collected from the ships that 
he had purposely wrecked by displaying 
false lights at the Crotch on Cliff Island. 
The islanders are at great pains to point out 
his own private graveyard, a pretty grassy 
meadow, where his innocent victims are said 
to sleep their last, long sleep. Even the 
Critic fell under the witching spell of» the 
flickering flames of the campfire and related 
the adventures of the credulous Sylvester of 
Orr's Island who, upon the recommenda- 
tions of a jabbering, half-witted Indian 
squaw, popularly accredited with an unholy 
alliance with the Evil One himself, dug all 
over Pond Island in a fruitless treasure 
search. 

85 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

It was ten o'clock by the time our guests 
departed and we turned in. We slipped off 
our shoes and outer clothes, fastened back 
the tent flap, rolled up in our blankets, and 
lay watching the clouds trail across the 
moonlit sky. A pair of big, grey herons, dis- 
turbed by the Erminie's noisy departure, 
swung a couple of times around the cove be- 
fore again settling themselves in the pines 
on the point. Some crows in the grove be- 
hind us complained harshly of the unusual 
disturbance. They continued to mutter 
hoarsely for some time, but finally quieted 
down, and, save for the whispering of the 
wind through the pines and the lisping of 
the little waves against the shore, all was 
still. To this gentle lullaby we soon fell 
asleep. 

Two or three times during the night I 
awoke and sat up to see whether in the fall- 
ing tide the Souse was riding on the rocks. 
More than once I heard my companion turn 
over. The man who can truthfully say that 
he has slept soundly the first night in the 
woods does not live. The second night — oh 
yes ! he can sleep like a top, or the dead, or 
a baby, or anything else he fancies. But the 
first night in the open, the sleepy twitterings 

86 



CASCO BAY TARNS 

of the birds, the wash of the turning tide, 
the deep breathing of the night wind; all 
these little noises of the great woods tickle 
an ear dead to the clanging of the street car, 
the rumble of the elevated train, the stac- 
cato explosions of the open cut-out. Our 
softened, civilized bodies find Mother Na- 
ture's lap hard and bumpy. 

Next morning the Sailor, who* had found 
his bed particularly hard, investigated our 
grassy knoll and discovered that we were 
camping upon a huge mound of old clam 
shells. Before the first white explorers 
coasted among the islands of Casco Bay, the 
Penobscot Indians, when the snow and ice 
had gone, forsook their winter quarters in 
the deep forests of the mainland. They 
spent the summer among the islands of the 
Bay, setting an example it has taken us, 
their pale-faced successors, two centuries to 
learn to follow. The braves fished and 
hunted porpoise, whales and seal for oil and 
hides. The women and children dug clams 
and dried them in the sun for winter use. 
What a great store of provisions that little 
hill of ours, rising fully twenty feet, must 
have represented ! 

It was a glorious day, our second dav in 

87 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

camp, and we had six glorious days, one 
after another. We fished for flounders in 
the cove and for rock cod in the deep seas. 
We loafed in the warm sun and read or 
wrote in the shadows of our pines. Each 
day at high tide we plunged into the sea off 
the rocky point. On neighboring islands 
we interviewed oldest inhabitants, fishermen 
and summer visitors, ministers and school- 
masters, filling two fat note books with facts 
and fables about Casco Bay. We explored 
little uninhabited islands, Earn, Rogue, 
Jenny, and George's, upon which still grazed 
flocks of sheep, relics of the old days when 
on every island wool growing supplemented 
fishing in the economics of the islanders. 
The Woodser crossed over the Neck and in 
a lobster-fisherman's iboat went up the New 
Meadows River to Bath. The Sailor, one 
day, took the boat at Cundy's Harbor and 
crossed the whole length of the Bay to Port- 
land. We ate three tremendous meals every 
day, and each night we slept soundly on the 
cool earth under the pine trees. 

Then the rain came, and it rained, a 
steady, soaking rain for four days and four 
nights. We stuck close to our tent. Sitting 
cross-legged, like Turks, on heaps of blan- 




SHEEP GRAZING, GEORGE* S ISLAND 




SEAWEED FERTILIZER, CHEBEAGUE ISLAND 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

kets we played rum and twenty-one and 
cribbage. We read everything we bad with 
us and wrote till our fingers acbed. We 
cooked under the tent flap, and since the 
wind remained perversely in the wrong 
direction, we were nearly smoked out thrice 
a day. Our clothes and our blankets became 
damper and still more damp. We manufac- 
tured ingenious braziers out of old tomato 
cans, for charcoal fires that were so hot they 
melted the soldering. To keep up his spirits, 
the Sailor composed a great musical epic of 
our argosy. There were thirty odd stanzas, 
all to the tune of Mister Dooley, an air that, 
whatever else may be said about it, certainly 
lends itself admirably to parody. For- 
tunately our shell heap had splendid natural 
drainage, and the maker of our tent was a 
skillful and an honest man, so we did not 
get wet. It was irksome being penned up, 
but, though we did cuss at the rain, we did 
not get ground to that fine edge when camp- 
ers cusis each other. 

When Sunday came, the day we must re- 
turn home, it cleared off beautifully. The 
sun rose out of a sparkling sea. A fresb 
wind dried out our belongings in a half 
hour. The birds, so long silent, sang to us 

89 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

joyfully as if begging us to stay. Reluc- 
tantly we packed up, and still cussing the 
weather, we sailed back to Cliff Island. Un- 
shaven and unshorn, tanned and stouter, 
stronger physically and sounder mentally, 
we climbed up the slippery steps of the 
wharf. 

Our skeptical advisers of ten days before 
gave us a right royal welcome, and the pes- 
simistic lobster-fisherman went to the ex- 
treme of "cal'latin' thet, eff v'hed nuthin' 
better t' do, et'ud be a prutty good jvay t'do 
nuthin''." 



90 



The Story of Casco Bay 

"Westward of this river is the Countrie of Auco- 
cisco, in the Bottome of a large, deep Bay, full of 
many great Isles, which divide it into many good Har- 
bours." 

A Description of NeuhEngland (1616) 

I 

The Land of Aucocisco 

ONE sparkling July morning in the year 
of our Lord 1603, the good ship 
Speedwell, Captain Martin Pring command- 
ing, worked her way cautiously around the 
rocky shoals of Cape Small Point and 
dropped anchor off Sebascodegan Island in 
the mouth of the New Meadows River. 
After the rolling breakers and ragged reefs, 
the wooded point of the island and the 
steep shores of the mainland made a safe 
and pleasant haven, and the stout hearts 
of the little English crew were lighter now 
the passage down the iron-bound coast from 
the Penobscot had been safely made. 

9i 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

No thoughts of a Northwest Passage; no 
dream of an El Dorado; no plans for a 
mighty New World empire led the speed- 
well into the quiet waters of Casco Bay. 
"Fish, sassafras, and fame," brought Cap- 
tain Martin Pring to Maine. Chance and 
miscalculations made him the discoverer 
of Casco Bay. 

The year before, after spending the sum- 
mer 'round about Kittery, Bartholomew 
Gosnold, an adventurous sailor with a keen 
instinct for trade, had returned to Eng- 
land. His strange stories and his rich 
cargo of fish and furs fired the imaginations 
and roused the cupidity of the shrewd 
merchants of Bristol. Mayor John Whit- 
son called a meeting, and Master Richard 
Hackiute, the famous geographer from 
London, addressed the stolid aldermen and 
substantial tradesmen. His enthusiasm 
carried over the timid ones; his array of 
facts convinced the doubting Thomases. 
They all joined him and the Mayor in 
chartering the Speedwell for a trading voy- 
age to the New World. 

Captain Martin Pring was recommended 
to them as a good mariner and an honest 
agent. Fearful for their capital, yet itch- 

92 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

ing to get the enormous profits should the 
tiny ship return safely, they drove a close 
bargain with Captain Pring; and he, easy- 
going sailornian that he was, counted the 
adventure and possible fame as part pay- 
ment, and accepted the commission. Gos- 
nold had brought back some sassafras, and, 
since the price of this important ingredient 
of all proper spring tonics was soaring, her 
owners made it a part of their agreement 
with her commander that the Speedwell 
should return laden with the fragrant 
medicinal bark. Martin Pring fulfilled this 
part of his contract faithfully. He brought 
back a fine cargo of sassafras and threw in 
his discoveries for good measure. He must 
have been a straightforward, likable man. 
His own lieutenant — and many a man is 
no hero to his lieutenant — calls him "an 
understanding gentleman and sufficient 
mariner," adding he will say no more lest 
he be accused of flattery. 

Such a captain had no difficulty in en- 
rolling a good crew, and early in the 
spring, amid the greedy good wishes of 
the owners and the blessings and prayers 
of many a sweetheart and wife, the little 
Speedwell sailed from Bristol for America. 

93 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

One of Oosnold's crew was aboard, but the 
winds were contrary or the pilot untrust- 
worthy for they made land near the mouth 
of the Penobscot, far north of Kittery. 

But what matter such a detail! The 
Penobscot Indians had many rich furs to 
exchange for trifling trinkets. The sea 
swarmed with cod, mackerel, and halibut. 
Sassafras was fairly plentiful. As they 
swindled each tribe out of their store of 
hides, they worked southward, and it was 
the middle of summer when they rounded 
Cape Small Point and entered Casco Bay. 
Here was a safe harbor, and here too, were 
great quantities of sassafras. Here, there- 
fore, Pring decided to make his headquar- 
ters. In small boats the English visited 
the summer encampments of the Indians on 
the various Casco Islands, always bartering 
and always hunting sassafras. When. the 
Speedwell's hold was full, they turned her 
prow eastward, and sailed home to Eng- 
land. 

Before this time other vessels had coasted 
from Cape Elizabeth to Cape Small Point, 
but the Speedwell was the first to turn 
into Casco Bay. Without chart and sound- 
ings it is a risky business to hug close to 

94 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

so rocky a coast. No "sufficient mariner' ' 
would of mere curiosity nose about among 
the maze of ragged islands, and, had it not 
been for sassafras, Captain Pring would 
never have exposed the Speedwell's oak 
ribs to a cracking against the reefs and 
ledges. "But orders is orders," so, having 
learned from the natives that there was a 
great stock of the bark in this big bay, he 
carefully picked his way through the wind- 
ing channel and anchored in the still water. 

In Casco Bay, the English first met the 
Abenaki Indians, who then held the best 
part of Maine. Their welcome to the 
strange white beings in the gigantic, 
winged canoe differed in no way from the 
greetings of the natives all along the coast. 
They were first terrified by the strange 
white men, of whom they had heard 
rumors. Curiosity, however, got the better 
of superstition, and they made friendly 
advances. They brought gifts, fish and 
venison, corn and wild grapes. Eagerly 
they exchanged pelts of mink, otter, bear, 
and seal for trumpery trinkets. 

Nor in the years to come did the Abenaki 
fare differently at the hands of the whites 
than other tribes. Their freely given con- 

95 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

fidence was shamefully abused by the Eng- 
lish and assiduously cultivated by the 
French. The English crushed them; the 
French coaxed them, and these opposite 
policies produced in the Abenaki the same 
bitter enmity against the English and the 
same eager friendship towards the French 
that they did in other tribes. It is the 
same, familiar story — the rivalry of the 
Europeans made more deadly by the par- 
tisanship of the aborigines — and to the 
fierce struggle for control were added, in 
the land of Aucocisco as elsewhere, all the 
horrors of savage butcheries. 

When the English came to Maine, the 
Abenaki, protected by the White Moun- 
tains from the aggressive Iroquois who 
kept their southern and western neighbors 
in semi-subjugation, had waxed strong. 
Their villages, encircled by tilled fields, 
were substantial towns compared with the 
shifting encampments of surrounding na- 
tions. Their tribal organization and social 
customs were fixed. Among themselves and 
with their neighbors, they carried on a 
considerable trade. Their religion was 
more than a blind fear of the elements; in 
their quill embroidery and crude paintings 

96 




THE WHARF, CLIFF ISLAND 









a __.i 








-gT 


/ 5 1*1 


•^ ^ll^Xfe'^, .. 


L 




i, « nil 


■M m gif-i~ 


.^ m >■ ■' w i 


r.4 


r/ jr -**""^ i 






Mt. 






SB 1 


<- v %«a*J 


Ww£i% 


Wm*m 



■''.-'■■■ irv 



THE AUCOCISCO, CLIFF ISLAND 



CASCO BAY YARX8 

they expressed a simple but sincere art; 
they knew something of the stars and had 
picked out the more prominent constella- 
tions, calling the Ursa Major by their own 
words for Great Bear. They had reached 
a civilization above that yet attained by 
their neighbors. 

Four great tribes of the Abenaki held 
the country about Casco Bay. Along the 
Saco River, southwest of the bay, were the 
Sokokis. To the northwest, in the Kenne- 
bec Valley, lived the Canabis. To the east, 
between Small Point and the St. George 
River, was the home of the Wawenocks. 
The land of Aucocisco, Casco Bay and the 
great valley of the Androscoggin, was the 
territory of the Anasagunticooks, who, since 
they also included the Pejepscots at the 
head of the Bay, were the strongest of the 
allied tribes. During the winter, the* four 
tribes kept each within the limits of their 
own territory. Every summer, however, 
three of them met in Casco Bay. 

Every June the Canabis from the Kenne- 
bec and the Anasagunticooks from the 
Androscoggin joined the Pejepscots in the 
New Meadows River. Here the long pro- 
cession of their canoes strung along 

97 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

through, the Middle Ground, on between 
Coombs and Bombazine Islands, 'round 
Doughty's Cove, over the Long Reach, and 
then across Harpswell Cove. At the foot 
of Harpswell Neck the canoes were 
beached, the motley throng disembarked, 
and the braves, their birch canoes on their 
shoulders, followed by the drudging squaws 
lugging the household goods, set off over 
what is still called "the old carrying-place." 
In the Middle Bay they embarked again 
and camped finally on Mair Point Neck. 
Here they were joined by their kinsmen 
the Wawenocks from Small Point. They 
had come to the rendezvous by hugging 
close to the long arms of Sebascodegan 
Island, gliding through the swift rush- 
ing tides of the Gurnet, crossing Harps- 
well Sound, and carrying across Harps- 
well Neck where it is narrowed by the 
opposite dents of Widgeon and Wilson's 
Coves. On Mair Point the Abenakis held 
a great family reunion. There were feasts 
and sports, songs and dancing. The war- 
riors boasted of their winter hunting, or 
blamed the evil spirits for their bad luck. 
The braves staked their hides on games of 
skill and ehance, and sometimes found a 



CASCO BAY TAENS 

little time for hrief love-making. The 
women, as they cooked banquets, exchanged 
confidences and retailed choice bits of 
tribal gossip. The boys and girls, a noisy, 
boisterous mob, accompanied by snarling, 
mangey dogs, roamed the woods or scram- 
bled over the rocks of the shore. After a 
week of resting and jollification, the as- 
sembled throngs broke up into little family 
groups and scattered among the many is- 
lands of the bay. 

There was a serious side to these early 
vacation trips among the Casco Islands. 
Every day the men went off hunting and 
fishing, but not for sport's sake. The 
women too, though they stayed in the is- 
land encampments, had no time to loll on 
the fragrant carpets of the cool pine groves, 
and even the children must forgo play for 
work. All toiled in fearful anticipation 
of the long, hungry winter. The men 
brought back whales, seals, and porpoises. 
The women refined the whale oil; dressed 
the seal skins; and hacked the tough por- 
poise hides into thongs for snowshoes and 
soles for moccasins. The children dug 
clams and dried them in the sun. Their 
little brown hands erected strange monu- 

99 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

ments. On most of the Casco Islands great 
heaps of clam shells, crumbled almost to 
dust now and covered with grasses and 
shrubs, still mark the sites of old Indian 
summer camps, On Little Chebeague Is- 
land, near the boat landing, is a monstrous, 
big heap, and every summer visitor to 
Bailey's and Orr's Islands knows the twin 
heaps on the banks of Will's Strait. The 
big fat, Quohog clams were great favor- 
ites, and the shores of Quohog Bay are 
fairly lined with old shell heaps. 

Before the summer was fairly over, the 
wigwams on the islands came down. The 
canoes were loaded with hides, oil, dried 
fish and sun cured clams, Again Mair 
Point was the rendezvous, and there, be- 
fore returning to the inland villages, where 
the old men and other women had been 
patiently tending the corn crop, the Har- 
vest Home was celebrated. By the time 
the shivering blasts of the equinoctial 
storms whipped the foam-tipped waves 
across the bay, the Abenakis were safe in 
their winter villages, snug in the deep 
pine forests of the mainland. 

Such people were the Abenakis and this 
was their life when the Speedwell's com- 

100 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

pany met them that summer of 1603 in 
Casco Bay. Long after the coming of the 
English they continued these summer mi- 
grations. Barter with the white men was 
added to the program, but little else was 
changed. 

Captain Pring was fairly the discoverer 
of the land of Aucocisco, but his visit, 
other than calling attention to the country 
by his splendid cargo of sassafras, had no 
direct results. At the very time his boats 
were plying among the islands of Casco 
Bay, however, in far off France a document 
that was destined to have an important 
part in the story of Aucocisco was being 
signed and sealed by men who did not 
know such a country existed. This was 
Henri IV's patent granting to his well be- 
loved lord, Pierre de Monts, all land in 
New France between the fortieth and forty- 
sixth parallels north latitude, which in- 
cludes all of Nova Scotia and most of New 
England. The ambitious and energetic de 
Monts determined that his was to be no 
empty title, but the settlement he person- 
ally founded at St. Croix Island, in the 
mouth of the Passamaquoddy was literally 
frozen out. After a shivering, starving 

101 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

season, the leader scurried back to France. 
Madame de Guerchville, a devout and high- 
minded lady, bought out de Monts' interest, 
and a few years later, inspired to convert 
all the Indians to the Roman Catholic re- 
ligion, zealously established a colony at Mt. 
'Desert, which she called St. Sauveur. 

Trading ships had brought back to Eng- 
land a report of the embryonic French 
colony at Passamaquoddy. While de Monts 
and his hungry comrades were freezing on 
St. Croix Island, a party of English gentle- 
men met in the snug dining room of 
Thomas Arundel, Baron of Warden, and 
over the best of port and dry biscuits 
angrily plotted their destruction. After 
a deal of patriotic talk, they made up a 
purse, chartered and fitted out the Arch- 
angel, and engaged Captain John Wey- 
mouth as master. Since there was nominal 
peace with France, they gave out to the 
world that Captain Weymouth would dis- 
cover the Northwest Passage, but they in- 
structed him privily to spy upon the 
French and, if feasible, to establish a 
colony of his own. 

The Archangel sailed from the Downes 
in March and made land near Cape Cod. 

102 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Weymouth, nosed his way up the Maine 
coast. Like Pring he entered Casco Bay, 
but he made his headquarters just east of 
Cape Small Point, in the mouth of the 
Kennebec River, near the present site of 
Bath. Here the Indians told of the 
French. The savages gleefully related the 
hardships of the winter, but, when they 
told him that the intruders were coasting 
along the shores in two great ships, Wey- 
mouth decided that discretion were the 
better part of valor, and he set sail again 
for England. Just before sailing, how- 
ever, upon some friendly pretext, he lured 
five Indians aboard and carried them off 
with him. This treacherous kidnapping 
made the natives the enemies of the Eng- 
lish, but it also won the interest of a man 
whose courage and determination saved 
the country of Aucocisco. 

When, in July, the Archangel .anchored 
safe in Plymouth Harbor, Captain Wey- 
mouth first reported to the commander of 
the fort, Sir Ferdinando Gorges. This 
very English gentleman with the strangely 
Spanish sounding name, listened atten- 
tively to the stories of the French en- 
croachments. The valuable cargo of fish 

103 



CAS CO BAY YARN 8 

and furs also interested him, but most of 
all the strange copper-colored captives 
roused his curiosity. He calmly appro- 
priated three Indians as his servants, and 
from them he learned of the wonder land 
of Aucocisco. He organized the Plymouth 
Company and used his influence to get a 
deed from James I for all land north and 
west of the Hudson River to the forty-fifth 
parallel. This deed, dated 10th April, 
1606, conflicted for five full degrees of 
latitude with the French grant to de 
Monts, and Casco Bay lay right in the 
heart of this disputed territory. Gorges 
knew the French were already established 
on land which, thanks to the discoveries of 
the Cabots and his new deed with its 
flourishing royal signature and red royal 
seal, he believed belonged to the Plymouth 
Company. He urged haste, but it was too 
late in the season to send an expedition 
till next summer. 

The Company did things in no niggardly 
fashion. They bought two good ships, the 
Gift of God and the Mary and John; they 
supplied them generously, and they en- 
listed over a hundred recruits. They 
placed a good man, George Pop-ham, nep- 

104 




THE WILLOWS, JEWELL S ISLAND 




THE BIRCHES, CHEBEAGUE ISLAND 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

hew of Sir John Popham, the president of 
the Company, in command, appointing 
Captain Rawleigh Gilbert his lieutenant. 
Their well laid and costly plans came to 
nothing. Their colony, the first English 
colony in New England, was indeed 
planted in the mouth of the Kennebec, al- 
most on the site of Weymouth's encamp- 
ment; but cold and disease wrought havoc 
with the little band. Many, among them 
young Popham himself, died, and it was 
a sorry little knot of survivors that next 
summer dragged themselves back to Eng- 
land. 

The whole venture of a colony by the 
Plymouth Company collapsed. High hopes 
were dashed to the ground. Stout hearts 
wavered. Purse strings were pulled tight. 
The horriMe stories of cold and privation 
retailed bj the survivors made it all but 
impossible to find colonists. The enmity 
of the Indians, won by Weymouth's rash 
kidnapping, hung like a storm cloud which 
the French friendship might at any time 
blow over any English settlement in Maine. 
One man remained firm in his belief in the 
future of the country. 

105 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Sir Ferdinando Gorges had, moreover, the 
courage of his convictions. Out of his own 
pocket he fitted out a vessel, and three 
times, in 1609, in 1614, and 1619, he sent 
her across the stormy Atlantic. He was 
more than fortunate in finding Richard 
Vines to lead these expeditions. Captain 
Vines was a good sailor, a brave and popu- 
lar leader, and an honest! man, and. he served 
Gorges faithfully many years. Later he 
ruled the Maine colonies well and wisely. 
These first three voyages of Vines were but 
trading trips. Following Pring and Wey- 
mouth he visited the land of Aucocisco, 
bartering with Abenakis in their summer 
camps on the Casco Islands. 

But Sir Ferdinando's agent was not the 
only man who found it profitable to trade 
glass beads for otter pelts and steel but- 
tons for whale oil. The ubiquitous Captain 
John Smith was another early visitor to 
Aucocisco. When his toddling Virginia 
colony was on its feet, he found things too 
tame for his adventurous spirit, so he per- 
suaded a company of London merchants to 
provide him with a trading ship. In his 
own words, "in the Moneth of Aprill, 1614, 
I chaunced to arrive in New-England, a 

106 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

part of Ameryea, at the Isle of Monahigan, 
to make Tryalls of a Myne of Gold and 
Copper; if these fayled, Fish and Furres 
was then our Refuge." He found no mines, 
but he carried home fish and hides worth 
£1500, a sum close to f 12,000 today. His 
masters were delighted, and the very next 
year he again sailed for America. His 
ship, however, was picked up by a French 
man-o'-war, and Smith was carried off a 
captive. He who had escaped from slavery 
in Turkey could not be expected to lan- 
guish in a French prison, and a few 
months later he bobbed up serenely in Lon- 
don again, the manuscript of his adven- 
tures, written during his captivity, stick- 
ing out of his pocket. 

This manuscript was published the same 
year (1616) under the title of "A Descrip- 
tion of New-England," and the book fixed 
this name upon the country that had pre- 
viously been called North Virginia. This 
is not the only name Smith gave us, for 
with his book was published his, the first 
map of the New England coast. When 
christening the larger bays, headlands, and 
islands, he diplomatically consulted with 
the King, who bestowed upon them the 

107 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

names of his friends, favorites, and family. 
Some of these names persist — notably Cape 
Elizabeth, named in honor of the ten-year- 
old princess who later became Bohemia's 
beloved "Queen of Hearts." In his descrip- 
tion of the country, however, the author 
employed the Indian names, and he wrote 
of Casco Bay: "Westward of this River 
(the Kennebec) is the Countrie of Aueo- 
cisco, in the Bottome of a large, deep Bay, 
full of many great Isles, which divide it 
into many good Harbours," The King 
labelled it Harington Bay on the map, but 
that name never became popular. The In- 
dian name, Aucocisco was too much of a 
mouthful for the English settlers, and they 
contracted it to Casco. The Indian word 
means heron, and the land of Aucocisco 
was the resting place of the herons, for in 
early days these great, grey birds flocked 
on all the islands in the Bay. 

The year after this map was published, 
1617, the persevering Gorges and the faith- 
ful Vines varied the monotony of their 
bartering trips by establishing a trading 
post at the mouth of the Saco River, some 
seventy-five miles southwest of Casco Bay. 
The tiny settlement grew till, in 1622, 

108 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

when Gorges obtained a charter for his 
colony, it was a flourishing little com- 
munity. This charter conferred on Gorges 
similar rights to those enjoyed by the 
Lords Baltimore in Maryland. Under a 
loose supervision from the Crown, he was 
the final and absolute authority in all 
Maine. He was virtually king, ruling 
through his deputy, Richard Vines in Saco. 
All these years, fishers and traders, both 
from Massachusetts and from the mother 
country, had visited Casco Bay each sum- 
mer. After being cramped in close quar- 
ters on their tiny vessels for weeks and 
feeding on salt meat and dried beans, to 
camp on these cool, pine-clad islands and 
to feast on venison and wild fowl, fresh 
fruit and berries, was a more than wel- 
come change. Their camps, however, were 
only tents of sail cloth, or at best rude log 
huts. They built no houses, for each fall 
they returned either to England or the 
more southern settlements. Like gold 
seekers, they came "to make their stake 
and dig for home again," and much of the 
wild, restless spirit of the boom mining 
town filled the trading and fishing posts 
of Maine during those early days. 

109 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

It was Christopher Levitt, trader, ex- 
plorer, good Church of England man, and 
friend of the Indians, who built the first 
permanent house in Aucocisco. Escorted 
by his friend, the sagamore Cogawesco, he 
explored the coast from Piscataquis to 
Penobscot, and finally, upon the recom- 
mendation of his guides, he selected an is- 
land at the entrance of Portland Harbor 
for his headquarters. There is no mistak- 
ing his description, "and now in this place 
I came to Quack, which I have named 
York, * * * it lieth about two leagues to 
the East of Cape Elizabeth. It is a bay or 
sound between the Main and certain is- 
lands, which lieth in the sea about one 
English mile and a half. There are four 
islands which make a very good harbour." 
Leavitt's "Quack" is a corruption of the 
Indian "maquack," meaning red, from the 
red, iron impregnated clay of Portland 
Neck. The four islands are, of course, 
Cushing's, Peaks, House, and Diamond. 

Levitt selected one of these as the site 
of his stone house, but which one is an un- 
solved riddle. Each, with all sorts of 
proofs, claims the honor. The very name 
of House Island, and as early as 1661 it 

no 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

was "commonly called Hous Ysland," while 
a deed dated 1663 says there was an old 
house upon it, is circumstantial evidence in 
its favor. The name is certainly sugges- 
tive, and what was an old house in 1663 
might have been a new house in 1623. 

From his stone house as headquarters, 
Levitt made several exploring and trading 
trips (one of his men, William Gibbins 
visited the Indian village at the falls of 
the Presumscot River), but the next year 
he returned to Massachusetts. He, how- 
ever, left ten men in his stone house, and 
for several years maintained there a profit- 
able trading post. Levitt himself went 
back to England to enlist support for his 
enterprise at Quack, or, as he called it. 
York. He obtained for himself appoint- 
ment as Governor of New England and a 
grant of six thousand acres near Cape 
Elizabeth. A solid Churchman himself, 
he was aided by the Established Church. 
Encouraged and financially supported by 
the authorities of York Cathedral, he 
planned to establish a diocese in the New 
World, and considerable funds were raised 
for the 'building of a cathedral at Quack. 
Levitt's sudden death, on the eve of his 

ill 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

departure for America, shattered these 
plans. Had he lived the story of Aueocisco 
might have been very different. At that 
time the Puritan colony of Massachusetts, 
founded but eight years before, was strug- 
gling hard for existence. Armed with civil 
authority as Governor and supported by 
the weighty influence of the Church, Levitt 
might have easily dominated New England, 
and in this event, Portland, or York as it 
would have been called, would have over- 
shadowed Boston. 

Five years after Christopher Levitt built 
the first permanent house in Aueocisco, the 
first permanent settler established himself 
in the region. Thomas Purchase had found 
it profitable to act as a broker between the 
Indians and the English. For him the 
head of the bay was a stragetic position. 
Here he could meet the natives as, laden 
with the spoils of their winter trapping, 
they came to the islands for the summer 
fishing. Here too, the white men could 
sail up the New Meadows River to take 
the pelts off his hands. Purchase shrewdly 
placed himself on this highway of trade, 
and for the proverbial bottle of rum and 
horn of powder acquired from the Indians 

112 




FISHERMAN S HOME, ORR S ISLAND 



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CASCO BAY YARNS 

a great tract of land that included Sebas- 
codegan Island and a great part of Harps- 
well Neck. 

Purchase had little more than made him- 
self comfortable at his trading post when 
he began to have neighbors. Not very near 
neighbors, for he was near where Bruns- 
wick now stands and the new settlement 
was at Small Point Harbor; nor yet per* 
manent neighbors, for the colony broke up 
after one year, but they made the first 
attempt at a real settlement in Aucocisco. 
They were members of the Company of 
Husbandmen, under the leadership of one 
Bryan Bincks, They had (1630) made a 
bargain with the Plymouth Company and 
secured a grant to forty square miles of 
land in New England. They agreed to 
furnish men and money, a ship and sup- 
plies, and to plant a colony. In return 
for their development of the country, the 
Plymouth Company gave them title to 
forty square miles surrounding the place 
of their settlement. Had the Husband- 
men's pioneering efforts been successful, 
this would doubtless have been a satisfac- 
tory agreement. Their colony was, how- 
ever, a failure, though their deed, known 

113 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

as the Plough. Patent, was dug up years 
later to cause no end of trouble. 

Twenty-five years had now elapsed since 
Martin Pring had brought the Speedwell 
into Casco Bay. Thomas Purchase had 
established his trading post almost within 
sight of where the discoverer's vessel had 
anchored, but, excepting the Husbandmen's 
abortive attempt, no true settlement had 
been made in the Aucocisco country. The 
region had, however, been thoroughly ex- 
plored and its riches exploited by Captain 
John Smith, Levitt's party, and other wan- 
dering traders. 

The time was ripe for the more serious 
business of colonization. A little band of 
zealots from Virginia had broken up the 
French colony of Madame de Guerchville 
at Mt. Desert, and as yet the Indians had 
been content to maintain a surly neutral- 
ity. The temporary trading posts were 
soon to grow into settlements, but the land 
of Aucocisco was the frontier of New Eng- 
land, and for the next fifty years she was 
torn by the reckless, almost lawless spirit 
of her settlers and bruised by the relent- 
less, savage attacks of the French and In- 
dians. 

114 



The Story of Casco Bay 

ii 

The Frontier of New England 

THE very year (1630) that the Hus- 
bandmen tried to found their colony 
on Cape Small Point, George Cleeves and 
Richard Tucker, two energetic and un- 
scrupulous gentlemen, were squatting near 
Spurwink on the American land of Robert 
Trelawney, a respectable merchant of far- 
off Plymouth. Trelawney had, however, a 
bold and zealous agent, John Winter, 
who refused to be bullied by the adven- 
turous pair. He knew his master's title to 
this land came straight from the Plymouth 
Company, and he forcibly ejected the in- 
truders. With many threats and much 
fist shaking, Cleeves and Tucker withdrew. 
Two years later they settled where the City 
of Portland now stands. 

So fair a city might have had more at- 
tractive founders. Of Tucker little is 

115 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

known — he was always second fiddle — but 
a man is judged by his friends, and his 
long, close partnership with Cleeves tarn- 
ishes his reputation. George Cleeves was 
a clever, plausible fellow, but he was not 
overburdened with scruples. He turned 
his coat so many times that, except that 
he always took the best of care of Cleeves' 
own interests, one cannot be sure of. the 
motives that prompted his actions. He had 
several faithful friends, but most of his 
contemporaries have little good to say of 
him. Throughout his checkered career he 
was a rankling thorn in the flesh of Sir 
Ferdinando Gorges, his agent Vines, the 
Colony of Massachusetts, and his fellow 
settlers in Maine. 

After settling on Portland Neck, Cleeves 
had no mind to be again dispossessed, so 
}ie formally claimed the land before the 
New England Council. This Neck, which 
the Indians called Maehigonne, or red clay, 
was, so he held, No-man's land, and, on 
authority of the proclamation of King 
James that "gave unto any subject who 
shall transport himself over to this country 
upon his own charge * * * for himself and 
for every person so transported by him, 

116 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

one hundred and fifty acres of land," 
Cleeves claimed it for his own. The New 
England Council recognized this claim, 
but in 1635, three years later, it surren- 
dered its charter and divided its territory 
among its members. All of Maine — includ- 
ing the grant to Trelawney, Cleeves' Port- 
land claim, and the badly defined forty 
square miles of the Husbandmen's Plough 
Patent — fell to Sir Ferdinando Gorges. 
Gorges appointed Arthur Mack worth his 
agent for Casco Bay, and Cleeves now be- 
gan again to fear for his land. Mackworth 
had settled on his island (now corrupted 
to Mackey's Island) near Portland the 
year before Cleeves and Tucker came to the 
Neck, and from the first the neighbors had 
not been friendly. From Cleeves' point of 
view, a bad case was made worse when the 
Proprietor's nephew, Captain William 
Gorges, came over from England as Deputy 
Governor of the whole of the Province of 
Maine. 

Cleeves had built a fine log mansion close 
to the spot where in 1807 Longfellow was 
born. His son-in-law, Michael Mitton, had 
built his house over on the west side of the 
Neck, and his friend, Tucker, had his home 

117 



CASCO BAT YARNS 

between them. They were all very comfort- 
able and happy, and Cleeves had not the 
least desire to move. He was ever a man 
of action, and, since his dealings with hard- 
headed agents and unreasonable deputies 
had never 'been successful, he determined to 
see the Lord Proprietor himself. So, leav- 
ing his family under the protection of 
Tucker, he hurried over to England. His 
polished manners, his intimate knowledge 
of affairs in New England, and his ap- 
parent frankness impressed Sir Ferdinando 
very favorably. With sly slander of his 
rivals and subtle recommendations of him- 
self, Cleeves so completely hoodwinked the 
Proprietor that he not only dismissed the 
faithful Vines, but even recalled his own 
nephew. Gorges now reposed in Cleeves 
the authority he had formerly divided be- 
tween Deputy Governor and Agent, com- 
missioning him to lease and settle lands, 
and bestowing upon Mm a vast tract for 
his own personal use. 

Cleeves returned to Maine monarch of 
all he surveyed and he acted like a despot. 
He proceeded to make things uncomfort- 
able for those who had opposed him. One 
of his first acts was to deed Peaks Island 

118 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

in Portland Harbor to his son-in-law, Mit- 
ton, and to make a generous grant to his 
old partner, Tucker, and, he officially con- 
firmed all his own titles. He handled 
things in so high handed a manner, how- 
ever, that he won the enmity of the settlers 
who were beginning to gather on Portland 
Neck and the neighboring islands. As a 
result, a batch of complaining letters sup- 
ported the story young Gorges told his 
uncle upon his return to England. Sir 
Ferdinando quickly recognized his mistake, 
and he did not mince matters. He sum- 
marily deposed Cleeves and appointed 
Richard Vines his Deputy Governor. 
Cleeves' lot was now not a pleasant one, 
and he could expect no consideration from 
Vines. The memory of the slanderous 
tales told their employer and the tyranny 
of the slanderer's short stewardship could 
be neither quickly forgotten nor easily for- 
given. The wonder is that Vines did not 
drive Cleeves from Maine. He had author- 
ity to cancel land grants and the power to 
support his mandates, but Cleeves, prob- 
ably for politic reasons, was allowed to 
possess his house and land at Falmouth, 

119 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

as Portland was then called. He lived 
there quietly for the next five years. 

In spite of these squabbles, the settle- 
ment on Portland Neck had been growing. 
Other settlers, notably Munjoy and Brack- 
ett, had joined Cleeves, Tucker, and Mit- 
ton. In 1636, four years after Cleeves 
settled on the Neck, Chaven Thornton 
bought Hog (now Diamond) Island, and 
the same year George Jewell purchased 
from the Indians the romantic outer island 
that still bears his name, selling it next 
year to Henry Donnell of Boston for a 
fishing station. John Sears settled on 
Long Island, and Hugh Mosier and John 
Cousins took up the islands still called 
after them. Further up the bay, Francis 
Small and Nicholas Shapleigh established 
themselves on Sebascodegan Island, while 
Thomas Haynes made his clearing on the 
mainland by Maquoit, and William Haynes 
took up Bustin Island. 

Casco Bay was being settled in earnest. 
Each summer, fishing ships still came from 
England and Massachusetts, and barter 
with the Abenakis was still a brisk and 
profitable business; but the fishermen and 
traders were being replaced by settlers who 

120 




FISH NETS DRYING, SEBASCODEGAN ISLAND 




LOBSTER POTS AND BUOYS, HEN ISLAND 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

made homes in the frontier of the colonies. 
Little log houses began to fringe the main- 
land, and out on the islands wisps of blue 
smoke rose from more than one chimney. 

All this time George Cleeves chafed un- 
der the yoke of his enforced retirement. 
Instead of accepting the new regime, thank- 
ful not to be dispossessed, he itched to grasp 
again the reins of authority. He was am- 
bitious, and he continually schemed how 
he might again become the leader of the col- 
ony. He finally worked out a plan that, 
should the proper opportunity arise, prom- 
ised to give him all that he so dearly de- 
sired. The Civil War in England presented 
this opportunity, and he was quick to 

grasp it. 

Gorges was a stout Royalist, and when 
Cromwell triumphed, Cleeves knew it was 
time for him to move against the distressed 
Proprietor. He planned to manoeuvre so 
as to reap for himself the greatest possible 
personal advantage His scheme was to 
resurrect the old Plough Patent for the 
forty square miles granted to the Husband- 
men, a grant that would include all Casco 
Bay. 

With this object he slipped quietly over 

121 



CAS CO BAY YARNS 

to England and began a still hunt for the 
survivors of the Husbandmen. One by one 
he rounded them up, and to each he told 
the same story. Their old title, he ex- 
plained, was doubtful and of no great 
value. Gorges had many patents and 
grants covering Casco Bay, and, even if 
their Plough Patent was valid, of what 
good was forty miles of wilderness ? Never- 
theless he hoped that a weak minded in- 
dividual might be found whom he might 
inveigle into buying their claim. Plainly 
a few real golden guineas were better than 
a shaky title to a sliver of the New World 
that none of them wanted. With such 
blandishments he secured from each of 
them an option on his share of the Plough 
Patent. 

Now the problem was to find a buyer, 
and Cleeves changed his tune. Never was 
a more valid title — no, not to land in the 
City of London. Gorges was a Royalist — 
was it right that he should control a terri- 
tory larger than Wales? This control, 
moreover, had been granted by the very 
authority the Puritans had defied and over- 
thrown, and he tactfully suggested that he 
and his fellow colonists would gladly wel- 

122 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

come a Cromwellian regime. He expatiated 
upon the growing settlements in Aucoeisco 
and called attention to the fish and furs 
that this region had been pouring into 
England for the past fifty years. He 
painted in glowing colors a picture any in- 
vestor might well gaze upon longingly, and 
at last he found a buyer for his options. 
The purchaser was the Roundhead soldier, 
Colonel Alexander Rigby. A blunt, honest, 
straightforward man, he bought the Plough 
Patent frankly because he believed it a 
good investment, an opportunity to capital- 
ize his position and influence. He and 
Cleeves were strange partners, but they got 
on capitally together, and Cleeves, as his 
agent, served him well and faithfully. 

Two months after the sale, Cleeves re- 
turned to Maine as Deputy President for 
Rigby. Again in Maine and again a leader, 
he profited by his former experience and 
was conservative and circumspect. As 
President of the Rigby territory, he con- 
firmed his titles to lands he had held under 
grants from Gorges, and he won friends 
by guaranteeing similar protection to his 
neighbors. He set up his government in 
Portland and formally claimed the whole 

123 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

of Aucocisco from the Kennebec to Cape 
Porpus. Richard Vines, Gorges' Deputy 
Governor, remained at Saco. He stoutly 
denied the Rigby claim, and the men of 
Scarboro, Saco, and Piscataquis held by 
him. Cleeves rallied most of the Aucocisco 
settlers about him, but down on Cape 
Elizabeth the doughty clergyman, Robert 
Jordan, and his friend Henry Jocelyn, led 
a strong anti-Rigby faction, while at home 
Cleeves had to deal with Arthur Mack- 
worth who withdrew to his island, stub- 
bornly refusing to recognize the new gov- 
ernment. This resistance enraged Cleeves, 
but he had learned that his forte was 
diplomacy, and he kept a tight curb on his 
feelings. He wrote an ingratiating letter to 
the Puritans in Massachusetts, but they 
snubbed him. This was a blow. He had 
counted on their support of their illus- 
trious co-religionist, Colonel Rigby; but 
still sure he could win the aid of the 
stronger colony, he had his old friend 
Tucker circulate a fine petition to Massa- 
chusetts begging for a mutual alliance 
"against the French, the Indians, and other 
enemies." Tucker, as he went from cabin 
to cabin in Casco Bay, was greeted curtly, 

124 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

and the list of signatures grew slowly. 
The independent frontiersmen were willing 
enough to recognize Rigby, but most of them 
were Churchmen and they looked askance 
at the Puritans. They felt well able to 
care for themselves against any enemies, 
and this petition savored too much of 
toadyism to the sister colony. 

All this intrigue sickened the honest, 
peaceful Vines. He wrote to Gorges re- 
signing as Deputy Governor, and emigrated 
with his family to Barbadoes, and Jocelyn, 
Cleeves' bitter opponent, was appointed 
Governor. He, too, had had enough of the 
dissension, but, being a man of different 
temper, decided the way to end it was to 
proceed vigorously against Cleeves, and, at 
the point of the sword if necessary, to 
bring back the Casco settlements under 
the rule of the Lord Proprietor. The Saco 
Council declared Cleeves and Tucker 
traitors and voted to take them prisoners. 
Thoroughly frightened by these activities, 
these worthies wrote to Governor Win- 
throp, begging aid to suppress what they 
called "a Royalist insurrection. " The Pur- 
itans were not deceived by this cry of 
"Wolf! Wolf!" They knew Cleeves, and 

125 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

they read between the lines of his 'frantic 
appeal. 

On March 30th, 1646, Jocelyn, supported 
by an armed band, landed at Casco, but 
Cleeves and his followers met him un- 
armed. Jocelyn presented a formal pro- 
test against the claim of Rigby, which 
ended with the peremptory command that 
Cleeves and his men submit to the govern- 
ment of the lawful Proprietor. Cleeves 
began a lengthy answer, but the impatient 
Jocelyn, seeing they would get nowhere 
and secretly peeved not to have been met 
by armed resistance, cut him short by offer- 
ing to arbitrate the whole matter before 
the Massachusetts Magistrates. Cleeves 
was delighted. He was not to be carried 
off in chains nor to be thrown out of 
Maine, and he reasoned that the Puritan 
judges would surely support his Puritan 
master's claim. He could not believe the 
proposal was sincere, and he demanded 
bond. Jocelyn agreed promptly, and both 
parties put up £500 to insure their appear- 
ance at the May term of the General Court 
in Boston. Both were on hand at the ap- 
pointed time, and the Court listened at- 
tentively to the evidence and then with- 

126 



CASCO BAY YARNS 
• 

drew to consider the matter. Here was in- 
deed a delicate question. The personal and 
political side issues further involved the 
tangle of conflicting land claims. Rigby 
was undoubtedly a good Puritan, high in 
favor with the Cromwellian party; but his 
Deputy President was a bitter pill to swal- 
low, even with the sugar coating of religious 
favor. Gorges had actively supported the 
King, but he had governed his colony well 
and popular sentiment supported his claim 
to Oasco Bay. As an alternative, the pro- 
posal was made that both claims be swept 
aside and Massachusetts herself take over 
the disputed territory. After a long dis- 
cussion, the Magistrates washed their 
hands of the whole matter and tactfully 
suggested that both parties lay their proofs 
before the Commissioners of Foreign Plan- 
tations in England. 

There was nothing else for the rivals to 
do. The Civil War in England delayed the 
final decision, so for the next nine months, 
the Deputy Governor and the Deputy Presi- 
dent were forced to maintain a strained 
peace. In March 1647, the Commissioners 
awarded Colonel Rigby his claims in full. 

In the meantime Sir Ferdinando Gorges 

127 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

had died, and his heir, John Gorges, ac- 
cepted the verdict. The old Lord Pro- 
prietor would not have submitted so su- 
pinely, but without his leadership and sup- 
port, Jocelyn was helpless. He even be- 
came "assistant" of the triumphant Cleeves, 
who was now undisputed ruler over all of 
the Casco Bay region. The remainder of 
Maine, still the property of Gorges' heir, 
was left unorganized, and in 1649 the 
colonists set up their own elective govern- 
ment of freemen. 

Three years after his claim was ratified, 
Colonel Rigby also died. Cleeves' govern- 
ment was not popular, and the Casco set- 
tlers seized this opportunity to imitate 
their fellow colonists in Maine and set up 
an independent government. Cleeves fled 
to England and poured his troubles in the 
sympathetic ear of Edward Rigby, son of 
his old master. The whole of Maine was 
in a turmoil, and there was some talk of 
Cromwell's personal interference. Young 
Rigby, so political gossip had it, was to be 
sent over as Governor General of all New 
England, but this appointment was never 
made, and, as Cleeves, for reasons of his 

128 




BIRD S EYE VIEW OF ORR S ISLAND 







,t "^S|fflB HfffS 










»,,.„.,.,;.:, ... ^ . 




r 








PS5^? 








tr- j^ ^fe 


In.;. 



SMUGGLERS COVE, JEWELLS ISLAND 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

own, had no desire to return to Maine, the 
Province was left free to govern herself a-s 
best she might. 

Massachusetts saw in this an opportunity 
to put into effect her selfish proposal to 
take over the divided colony. In 1629, she 
had been granted all land south of three 
miles east of the Merrimac River, so she 
exhumed this grant and by stretching the 
three miles to three degrees, claimed all 
land south and west of Clapboard Island 
in Casco Bay. Here was new material for 
dissention. A few of the Maine men were 
still faithful to the Gorges family, and a 
few favored the new Massachusetts claim. 
A considerable number held for Rigby, but 
the majority were enthusiastic for self- 
government. Gradually the Massachusetts 
claim, since the stable government of that 
colony held forth a promise of peace and 
justice, came to be more and more popular. 
The Restoration put the Royalists again 
in power and automatically wiped out the 
last vestiges of the Rigby title, and when 
in 1658, Massachusetts, having bought the 
interest of the Gorges' heirs for £12,000, 
assumed control, there was general rejoic- 
ing. 

129 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

So civil peace on the frontier of New 
England was only won by at last elimi- 
nating all the rival claimants. Massa- 
chusetts at once assumed control of affairs 
and continued to administer them with a 
firm hand till in 1820 Maine became one 
of the States of the Union. During the 
twenty years of internal strife that tore 
Casco settlements, the French and Indians 
mercifully kept peace. But these internal 
dissensions made the growth of the frontier 
towns weak and spasmodic. In the flood 
of savage warfare that soon was to sweep 
over them, they sadly needed the strength 
a more stable foundation would have given. 

It was Thomas Purchase, the first set- 
tler in Casco Bay, who first caused trouble 
with the Indians. He had displayed a com- 
mendable foresight in establishing his trad- 
ing post on the path of the Indian summer 
migrations, but his keenness for trade led 
him stupidly into antagonizing the natives. 
Fifty years of barter with both English 
and French had taught the Abenakis that 
a handful of beads was a poor exchange 
for an otter skin. So Purchase, in order 
that he might drive harder bargains, took 
the rum bottle into partnership. When the 

130 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

effects of the liquor had worn off, his dupes 
would discover that they had been shame- 
fully cheated. 

On September 5th, 1675, a little band of 
twenty Pejepscots called at Purchase's 
cabin. That spring King Phillip's War 
had broken out in Massachusetts, and the 
news inflamed the Indians and sent a 
shiver of apprehension through the strag- 
gling Aucoeisco settlements, The Abenakis' 
rendezvous on Mair Point had been fully 
attended that summer. Messengers from 
the Massachusetts tribes had been royally 
entertained, but in the fall the Abenakis as 
usual began to work their way back to 
their inland winter quarters. The settlers 
in the Bay breathed more freely. The little 
band that visited Purchase were the last of 
the stragglers. Finding Purchase and his 
sons away, they ransacked the place and 
carried off some guns, ammunition, and 
several bottles of whisky. Drunk and 
riotous they returned, killed a calf and 
some sheep and forced Mrs. Purchase to 
prepare their banquet. Next morning one 
of the sons returned, and taking his mother 
with him, fled up the New Meadows River 
to Bath. 

131 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

A few days later a little sloop and two 
small boats sailed up the New Meadows 
River. Aboard were twenty-five islanders 
come to harvest their corn on their fertile 
land along the river bottom. They found 
the Indians skulking in the woods and 
came to blows with three of the outposts, 
one of whom was killed, another badly 
wounded, while the third carried the news 
to his friends. The little raiding band sent 
a message to the Pejepscot villages and ral- 
lied a considerable force, which hid in the 
woods, watching the harvesting. When the 
corn was loaded, the Indians attacked sud- 
denly and triumphantly carried off the two 
small boats laden to the gunwales with 
corn. 

Next year, 1676, the Pejepscot s went on 
the war path in earnest. They destroyed 
Purchase's trading post and proceeded to 
ravage the entire country. The settlers 
from the head of the bay fled to the forti- 
fied house on Jewell's Island. Their lead- 
er, Richard Potts, of Haskell Island, set a 
watch upon the shore, but the enemy, a 
band of Pejepseots from Arrowsic, hid upon 
the wooded heights of the neighboring Cliff 

132 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Island, and thinking themselves safe, the 
men went fishing. The Indians Sped across 
and attacked the women and children. The 
men, hearing the cries and shots hastened 
back, but Mrs Potts and her two children 
were killed in the very sight of their father 
and husband. The attack was repulsed, 
and disheartened by the spirited defence, 
the Pejepscots withdrew. Shortly after- 
wards a small coasting vessel carried off 
the refugees on Jewell's Island. 

All along the coast the Abenakis attacked 
the scattered settlements. Mugg, a saga- 
more of the Androscoggins, took Scarboro 
and massacred the inhabitants. The people 
of Wells sent Walter Gendell to treat with 
the Indians, but they calmly held him a 
prisoner and demanded a huge ransom. A 
war party of the Anasagunticooks, under 
Simon, who won the nickname of "Yankee 
Killer", fell on the little knot of six houses 
on Portland Neck in the dead of night and 
killed thirty-four. Anthony Brackett and 
his wife were captured, but they managed 
to escape and joined the other refugees who 
gathered at Andrew's stone house on Cush- 
ing's Island. 

It was a sad and worried little band. 

133 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Eleven of their kinsfolk and neighbors were 
known to be dead; twenty-five were miss- 
ing. Bnt there was no time for lamentation. 
A quantity of powder was stored on the 
Neck ; and not only did they need this am- 
munition, but they feared lest it should fall 
in the hands of their enemies. That night 
several of the men stealthily paddled over 
to the Neck. The Indians were celebrating 
their easy victory, and the settlers landed 
unmolested. Fortunately the savages had 
not discovered a powder barrel stored in 
the cellar of Wells' house, and a little fur- 
ther up the Neck two more barrels in a 
storehouse had also providentially escaped 
their keen eyes, so, thanks to this bold raid, 
the Colonists would not lack ammuni- 
tion. But food gave out, for the Indians 
besieged them all summer. The little party 
was finally reduced to the verge of starva- 
tion, and George Felt with six companions 
determined to risk a trip over to Munjoy's 
(now called Peaks) Island where, 'in his 
flight, John Palmer had left a flock of 
sheep. Indian camps lined the Cape Shore 
and Portland Neck, outposts were sta- 
tioned on Hog (now Diamond) Island, and 
war canoes patrolled the waters of the 

134 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

harbor and bay. Knowing well their dan- 
ger, the men waited a favorable opportuni- 
ty, and one Saturday night, when the ene- 
my seemed more quiet than usual, they 
paddled silently over to the neighboring 
island. The savages saw them, but allowed 
them to land, and then, with exulting 
shouts, surrounded the island and attacked 
fiercely. The seven white men, fighting 
every inch of the way, withdrew to the 
ruins of Palmer's stone house. Time after 
time the Indians rushed the house, but they 
only forced an entrance after the powder 
of the gallant little band was spent. The 
survivors were brutally slaughtered, and 
the Anasagunticooks withdrew to their 
camps to fittingly celebrate the death of 
George Felt, whose activities had won their 
peculiar hatred. The panic stricken women 
on Cushing's Island huddled together close 
in their refuge, and the surviving men did 
double guard duty. Had relief not come 
soon, this little knot of survivors from the 
Portland settlement would have all per- 
ished. . 
Next year, 1677, Massachusetts sent Maj- 
ors Waldron and Frost, with a hundred 
white soldiers and fifty friendly Natick In- 

135 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

dians, to make a truce with. Simon. They 
met at the Indian rendezvous on Mair 
Point. Simon protested friendship, saying 
he had sent Mugg to Boston to make a 
treaty, but that he had returned with word 
of the coming of the English expedition. 
He promised to deliver up his prisoners 
next morning, but during the night four- 
teen Pejepscot war canoes came down from 
the head of the bay, and Simon, emboldened 
by reinforcements, at daybreak attacked. 
This treacherous onslaught was repulsed, 
but fearing for the lives of the captives, 
Major Waldron again opened parley. 
Simon took this to be a sure sign of weak- 
ness, and after sarcastically defying the 
English, hurried off to join his forces to 
the Penobscot bands advancing to attack 
Bath. Major Waldron rushed to the de- 
fence and drove off the enemy, and on the 
6th of November, Mugg signed a treaty, 
ending, for the time, the bloody hostilities. 
The very next spring, those who had fled 
from Casco Bay the previous summer, came 
back to their ruined homes. 

In 1680 the Massachusetts Council plant- 
ed a new colony on the east side of the 
Royal River in Casco Bay. The leader of 

136 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

the settlers was Walter Gendell, whom 
Mugg had held for ransom during the last 
outbreak. Gendell was a Church of Eng- 
land man, and, because he actively opposed 
the extension of the Puritan power over 
Maine, he was not popular in Massachu- 
setts. On his return from his mission to 
the Indians, he had been hauled into Court 
and on the charge of treason sentenced to 
be hung. His friends, however, effected his 
escape to Portland where he was warmly 
welcomed and granted a hundred acres of 
land along the Back Cove. By paying a 
fine of £20, he bought his freedom from the 
Massachusetts authorities, and not only 
was the death sentence forgotten, but he 
was even appointed leader of the new set- 
tlement at Yarmouth. 

Yarmouth, in the fall of 1684, was the 
scene of one of those isolated attacks that, 
even in times of nominal peace, terrorized 
the frontier. Gendell, learning that the In- 
dians were prowling about, took half a doz- 
en men down to Parker's Point, at the 
mouth of the Yarmouth River, to build a 
stockade which might serve as a refuge in 
time of need. While the leader was visit- 
ing at John Royall's house across the river, 

137 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

the Indians attacked. Gendell, knowing 
his men were short of gunpowder, bribed a 
negro to row him and a keg of ammunition 
over to the half built stockade. They wait- 
ed till it was dark, but just as they 
reached the shore they were discovered. Kid- 
died with bullets, Gendell fell, at the edge 
of the stockade. "Here, boys, here's some 
powder," he cried, and with a last effort, 
threw the keg over to them. The Indians 
drew off after this, but a couple of weeks 
later returned in greater numbers and fell 
upon the new settlement. Three of the set- 
tlers were killed, three were carried off to 
Lane's Island to be tortured to death, and 
the others fled to Jewell's Island, later re- 
moving to Falmouth. Yarmouth was not 
resettled till 1722. 

Four years after the destruction of Yar- 
mouth, King William's War broke out, and 
now the Indians had the intelligent lead- 
ership of the French. Governor Andross, 
of Massachusetts, had destroyed Bragaduce 
(now Castine), the home of Baron de Cas- 
tine. This Frenchman had married a 
daughter of the Penobscots and he easily 
induced his warlike kinsmen to help him 
revenge his wrongs. They planned to destroy 

138 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Portland again, and joined by the Pejep- 
scots and Androscoggins, a party of over 
seven hundred French and Indians gath- 
ered on Peaks Island. Major Benjamin 
Church, the hero of the Swamp Fight in 
Khode Island, arrived in the nick of time 
to beat off the attack, but he was called 
back to Boston in the fall, and had to take 
most of his men with him. He left, how- 
ever, a garrison of fifteen gunners in Fort 
Loyall, which had been erected at the foot 
of India Street, and a garrison of sixty 
soldiers in the town. 

It was a long and anxious winter for the 
live hundred souls on Portland Neck, but, 
except for wild rumors and false alarms, 
the season was uneventful. In the spring, 
instead of returning, Major Church was 
forced to withdraw Captain Willard 
and the handful of men he had left 
to protect Portland. The enemy soon 
heard of the defenceless condition of 
the little town, and in May they again ap- 
peared. They were joined by a blood- 
thirsty band fresh from the massacre at 
Schenectady. Captain Sylvanus Davis, 
commandant of Fort Loyall, ordered all 
people to stay indoors, but the zealous 

139 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Lieutenant Clark took thirty of his men 
from the blockhouse on Munjoy's Hill to 
drive off some scouts of the enemy. He was 
attacked from ambush by a great force, and 
in the first deadly volley he and sixteen of 
his men fell. The others withdrew to the 
blockhouse, and, after fighting all day, re- 
tired to Fort Loyall under cover of dark- 
ness. The Indians now burned and sacked 
the town, and in full force attacked the 
little fort. Five days and four nights the 
battle lasted, but at last Captain Davis had 
to surrender. Burniffe, the French leader, 
promised the survivors should be spared, 
but he cruelly gave them all over to the 
tender mercies of his savage allies, who 
carried them off to their favorite torture 
ground, Lane's Island. Captain Davis and 
two others only were spared, and were car- 
ried in triumph to Quebec. Four years 
later Davis was exchanged and again re- 
turned to Casco Bay. 

After destroying Portland, the Indians 
ravaged the whole of the Aucocisco country, 
and whoever was unable to make good his 
escape was massacred. Richard Potts and 
Richard Haynes both fled to Cliff Island, 
the one from Haskell Island and the other 

140 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

from Maquoit Bay, and both were mur- 
dered in cold blood. Harry Donnell on 
Jewell's Island was able to escape to Massa- 
chusetts. Many from the head of the bay 
fled to the fort at Brunswick, and Major 
Church, though he arrived too late to save 
Fort Loyall, raised the siege of Bruns- 
wick. 

For the next twenty years there was com- 
parative peace for the very good reason 
that the Casco Bay country was a ruined 
waste. A few straggling settlers came 
back, only to be driven off again by the 
Indians. In 1708, there was a general up- 
rising, and the blow fell heaviest on Cape 
Elizabeth. Just east of Portland, near 
where Fort Preble now stands, a bloody 
battle was fought and the French and In- 
dians held in check. It was not till after 
the Peace of Utrecht, in 1713, that Port- 
land was rebuilt, but it grew quickly, so 
that by 1722, when the next general hos- 
tilities broke out, there were forty-five fam- 
ilies on the Neck and a strong fort well 
garrisoned for their protection. The In- 
dians therefore contented themselves with 
attacking outlying farms and defenceless 
settlers on the more remote islands. Cap- 

141 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

tains Harmon, Brown, Moulton and Bean, 
with two hundred men, set out on the trail 
of Bomazeen, the leader of these marauders. 
They found them encamped on the island 
near the Gurnet that still bears the saga- 
more's name. A fierce battle raged for sev- 
eral hours, but in the end Bomazeen was 
killed and his followers scattered. They, 
however, rallied and with their friends at- 
tacked Brunswick in retaliation for their 
defeat and the death of their chief. This 
attack, the last on a settlement of any size 
in the region, was repulsed. 

With these spasmodic gusts the fury of 
the Indian storm spent itself. Though 
there were occasional outbreaks, there were 
henceforth no general wars, and when in 
1745 the power of the French in Maine was 
finally broken by the blow of the Louis- 
burgh Expedition, the land of Aucocisco 
ceased to be a frontier country. 

For one hundred and fifty years the Cas- 
co settlements had been struggling along, 
first as rough trading and fishing posts, 
next as settlements torn by the divided 
civil authority, finally as outworks of New 
England against which the French and In- 
dians hurled their bitterest attacks. It was 

142 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

only the hardy adventurer who was tempted 
into Maine in those days. The long, freezing 
winters and the constant menace of Indian 
attack were hardships and dangers that 
could be comparatively escaped in the more 
southern colony of Massachusetts where too, 
stable government guaranteed rights and 
property. When our first frontier vanished, 
the settlements, warped and twisted in their 
early development, sprang up sturdy and 
strong, and the hardy pioneers turned nat- 
urally to the sea. Soon Maine fish and tim- 
ber were 'being carried to all ports in Maine- 
built and Maine-manned vessels. 



143 



The Story of Casco Bay 
in. 

1776, 1812 and 1861 

AS if having borne the brunt of the long 
series of French and Indian Wars — 
wars that were not of their own making — 
was not their full share of fealty to the 
mother country, the Casco colonists were 
called upon to help finance the European 
struggle of which their own battles had 
been but the echo. The Government rea- 
soned that they had saved the American 
settlements from falling under the French 
sway which had threatened to spread from 
New France all over the continent. Nat- 
urally they expected some return for what 
they considered had been their invaluable 
services. The colonists, on the other hand, 
remembered only too vividly the horrors of 
the wars they had just been through, the 
treacherous ambushes, the stealthy night 

144 




YARMOUTH ISLAND 




BAY STEAMER OFF LONG ISLAND 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

attacks, the bloody massacres, the dreadful 
burnings and the merciless tortures. They 
felt, reasonably enough, that they had done 
their share. They resented the high taxes 
and those rigid restrictions upon their 
trade which England, in none too tactful 
or gentle manner, attempted to enforce. 

Portland was now becoming an import- 
ant trading center. The "good, fair har- 
bour, behind four islands, which will hold 
fifty, yea an hundred great shippes" was 
teeming with commercial activity. Wharfs 
were built along the Neck, warehouses were 
erected by the shore, great schooners lay be- 
side the wharfs, exchanging cargoes of cot- 
ton, sugar, tobacco, and various manufac- 
tured articles for ice, timber, salt fish and 
other Maine products. A flourishing ship- 
building industry sprang up. Portland- 
built ships became famous for their sound 
construction and good design. In those 
days too, whaling was a factor in the com- 
merce of this growing seaport, and whale 
oil and bone were dealt in largely on the 
docks. In these various trades and indus- 
tries, by means of rapidly expanding for- 
eign trade, the foundation of the city's 

145 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

wealth and the prosperity of her citizens 
was laid broad and deep. 

In this little seaport, which was so in- 
dustriously building up a splendid export 
trade with the West Indies, vigorous re- 
sentment against the British restrictions 
on foreign trade kindled brightly. This 
resentment early burst into a hot flame. 

On the 6th of June, 1769, seven years be- 
fore the whole of the American colonies 
rose in arms, the merchants of Portland 
voiced in no uncertain terms their patriotic 
independence. They gathered in a mass 
meeting and forty-two of them solemnly 
signed a binding agreement not to buy any 
goods of English manufacture for one year, 
and to support, in every possible manner, 
their own home industries and those of 
their fellow colonists. Among the leaders 
in this movement — the earliest "Made in 
America" campaign — were Enoch Freeman 
Stephen Longfellow, Benjamin Titcomb, 
William Frost, Peter Noyes. Enoch Ilsley, 
Richard Godman, and David Bradish. The 
descendants of these illustrious men have 
long kept their names prominent in the af- 
fairs of their city and state. 

Down on Cape Elizabeth, the spirit of 

146 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

independence was also abroad, and as early 
as 1773, the men of the town voted £17 for 
the purchase of munitions of war. The 
very next year they organized two com- 
panies of militia. Captain Nathaniel Jor- 
dan, Jr., with Dr. N. Jones as his lieuten- 
ant, was placed in command of the Spur- 
wink Company; and Daniel Stout and 
Samuel Dunn were the captain and lieu- 
tenant respectively of the Papoduck Com- 
pany. These two companies later had time 
and again the opportunity of proving their 
worth. They saw much service during the 
War for Independence and covered them- 
selves with glory. 

Their spirit of independence and their 
patriotic firmness brought down on the 
heads of the men of Falmouth the wrath 
of the English authorites, and Portland 
Neck was the scene of an unwarranted 
outrage that, even more than the attack on 
the minute men at Lexington, brought the 
New England colonists to arms. In May, 
1775, Thomas Coulson, whose Tory activi- 
ties had already made him unpopular with 
his fellow-townsmen, imported stores with 
which to rig and supply a ship which he 
planned to send out as a privateer in the 

147 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

English cause. The vessel with these sup- 
plies lay at the wharf at the foot of Ex- 
change street, close to where the Casco Bay 
and Harpswell Line docks now stand. The 
local Committee of Safety and Inspection, 
learning of these plans, forbade the landing 
of this cargo. Coulson made several un- 
successful attempts, both by stealth and 
by force, to land these stores, and then he 
sent a call for help to the English author- 
ities in Massachusetts. 

In reply a trim sloop of war sailed into 
Portland Harbor and anchored off Fish 
Point. She was the Canseau, Captain 
Mowett commanding, and she came under 
sharp orders to see to it that His Majesty's 
faithful subjects were not interfered with 
in their loyal intentions and that no harm 
came to their persons or property. Under 
this protection, Coulson again attempted 
to unload his cargo, but none of the Fal- 
mouth men could be hired, or bribed, or 
bullied into doing this distasteful work. 
Feeling ran high, and one afternoon, when 
Captain Mowett, his surgeon, and the Rev. 
Mr. Wiswell were ashore together, a band 
of volunteers, led by Colonel Samuel 
Thompson, of Brunswick, an old Indian 

148 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

fighter, captured the trio and carried them 
off to prison. The officers of the Canseau 
sent a gig ashore with the peremptory 
order that their Captain be released at 
once, following it with the threat that, un- 
less he was safe and sound in his cabin 
on the Canseau by sundown, they would 
knock Falmouth off the Neck. General 
Preble and Colonel Freeman consulted 
with Captain Mowett, and he promised to 
appear the next morning for a public hear- 
ing of the case. These gentlemen then sug- 
gested to the patriots that the officer be re- 
leased on parole, but the young men would 
not listen to any such proposal. At last, 
however, the older counsellors prevailed, 
and upon their word that he would appear 
Mowett was escorted to the docks and set 
free. Next morning the Court convened, 
but the English officer did not attend the 
proceedings. Enraged at this faithless ac- 
tion, the young men swearing vengeance on 
all Tories, rushed out of the courtroom. 
They ran first to Coulson's house, but the 
bird had flown to a safe perch on the Can- 
seau. 

The mob, however, ransacked his house, 
and then set out to find other Tories. All 

149 



CASCO BAY YABNS 

suspects they caught they rode on rails, 
tearing their clothes, and shamefully mis- 
treating them. In the midst of the riot 
word came that the Canseau was weighing 
anchor. The crowd rushed to the water- 
front in time to see her slipping away be- 
tween Cape Shore and Cushing's Island. 
The mob saluted the retreating enemy with 
bad wishes and promises that she should 
not escape so easily should she visit them 
again. 

The Canseau did revisit Falmouth. Cap- 
tain Mowett remembered very well his re- 
ception in this rebellious seaport, and the 
memory of his ignominious treatment 
rankled. Accordingly, he obtained three 
additional ships from his Admiral and paid 
a return visit. It was Monday, October 
16th, when this little fleet appeared in the 
harbor. Mowett wasted no words in par- 
ley or explanation. He sent a boat ashore 
with the laconic message that in half an 
hour he was going to shell the town. This 
time he kept his word faithfully, and that 
same evening he sailed away leaving a 
burned and broken ruin where that very 
morning had stood the flourishing little 
town of Portland. 

150 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Help was sent to the destroyed city, and 
the Continental leaders determined to for- 
tify this harbor. Colonel Jonathan Nut- 
chell and his regiment were ordered to this 
duty, and they erected Fort Hancock on 
Spring Point, just where old Fort Preble 
now stands. Jnst opposite, on House Is- 
land, the present site of Fort Scammel, 
they threw up a redoubt and built a wood- 
en blockhouse. While the people of Fal- 
mouth were busy helping the soldiers build 
these defences a British frigate, under the 
command of Captain Symonds, hove in 
sight. The big vessel came to in the 
Roads, and the Captain sent word that 
the building must stop. The men paid not 
the least attention to this order, but con- 
tinued steadily at work, and the frigate, 
after cruising about Casco Bay for a couple 
of days, withdrew. 

It was this same frigate that chased the 
little sloop belonging to David Johnson 
of Bailey's Island. Johnson, to avoid cap- 
ture, drove his little ship into shallow 
water, where the big vessel could not follow 
him, but the frigate came to off Pond 
Island and sent out a barge. They pur- 
sued Johnson to Yarmouth Island, where 

151 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

in Sandy Cove he was forced to beach his 
sloop. Determined to put on a bold front, 
and to sell their lives, if need be, as dearly 
as possible, Johnson and his crew gathered 
behind the protection of the rocks at the 
point of the Cove and threatened to fire 
if the barge approached closer. Though 
superior in numbers, the English returned 
to their frigate, and she sailed away. 
Johnson and his Bailey's Island boys wait- 
ed for high tide to float their sloop, and 
returned joyfully to the island. 

Many of the hardy islanders served dur- 
ing the Revolution. Companies were or- 
ganized in Portland, Yarmouth, Cumber- 
land, on the Cape, and, at the head of the 
Bay, in Brunswick and Bath. The island 
men joined the colors at the town nearest 
their home. The peaceful merchants of 
Falmouth turned their trading ships into 
privateers and sent them out to harry Eng- 
lish commerce. One of the most famous of 
these vessels was Pearson Jones' ship the 
Putnam. She was commanded by Captain 
Joseph Bailey, with John Maxwell and Na- 
thaniel Thompson as lieutenants. The Put- 
nam had a sensational and successful ca- 
reer. She brought in several rich prizes 

152 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

and had no end of close escapes from cap- 
ture by the British cruisers and frigates 
that were patrolling the New England 
coast. 

During the long hard winter when Bos- 
ton was closely besieged by the English 
army and fleet, the Casco settlements came 
to the aid of their suffering compatriots. 
A little sloop from the Bay, the Martha, 
ran the blockade and brought in a good 
cargo of corn and two barrels of gun- 
powder. Hearing that firewood was scarce 
in the beleaguered city, the men of Cape 
Elizabeth collected forty-eight cords of 
pine. A little vessel, with this wood 
aboard, was also wary enough and swift 
enough to elude the blockading squadron 
and bring her acceptable gift to the shiver- 
ing city. 

After the close of the Revolution, Port- 
land again took up her interrupted com- 
merce. Her merchants prospered, and dur- 
ing the first half of the last century, they 
built those splendid stone mansions that 
stand behind the long rows of majestic 
elms along Congress and High streets. The 
city grew rapidly, and in 1786 was sepa- 
rated from Falmouth and incorporated as 

153 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

the City of Portland. By 1820, when 
Maine became a state of the Union, Port- 
land had a population of about 10,000. 

The Government took steps to foster the 
trade and protect the harbor of this im- 
portant shipping port. In 1785, the mer- 
chants and ship owners of the city had 
petitioned Massachusetts to build a light- 
house on Portland Head, but the request 
had not been granted. Five years later 
Congress (the Federal Government hav- 
ing taken over from the individual states 
the building and maintaining of lights), 
appropriated $5,000 for the building of a 
lighthouse on this point, and in January, 
1791, the Portland Head Light, so long a 
familiar landmark on the coast, was first 
lighted. 

Kemembering the Mowett outrage, the 
Government also took steps to fortify Port- 
land Harbor. In 1794, Fort Sumner was 
built. In 1808, the Government bought 
Little Diamond Island, which is still used 
as a station for the lighthouse service, and 
the next year acquired the west half of 
House Island. At this time, Fort Preble 
on Spring Point and Fort Scammel on 
House Island were built. These two old 

154 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

forts, both, named after Revolutionary 
heroes, though no longer maintained as de- 
fences are still interesting features of the 
harbor. Fort Gorges, built in 1857 under 
the direction of Jefferson Davis when he 
was Secretary of War, was the best type of 
harbor defence at the time of the Civil 
War. This fort, which was originally 
called Castle Gorges, was built from the 
same plans as historic Fort Sumter in 
Charleston Harbor. The Southern fort, 
whose fall issued in the Civil War, was, 
however, made of brick, while Fort Gorges 
is built of Maine granite. It is interesting 
to compare the sod parapets and tubby 
iron cannon of this fort with the steel bas- 
tions and great disappearing guns of Fort 
Williams near Portland Head and of Fort 
McKinley on Great Diamond Island. These 
important military posts, with their heavy 
armaments and modern barracks, are a 
sight well worth seeing, for Portland is 
not only famous as one of the best lighted 
harbors in the world, but also as one of 
the most strongly fortified positions on our 
coast. 

Forts Preble and Scammel had just been 
completed when the peace, which the busy 

155 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

merchants of Portland had so wisely em- 
ployed in extending their foreign trade, 
was rudely broken by the outbreaking of 
the second war with Great Britain. Dur- 
ing the War of 1812, despite the protection 
of the two new forts, Casco Bay was a 
place of alarms. English men-of-war pa- 
trolled the coast, keeping a sharp lookout 
for the laden merchantmen from Portland 
and making periodical raids on the smaller 
coast towns. Fearing that these plunderers 
would make a descent upon Bath, rude 
forts were thrown up at the mouth of the 
New Meadow Rivers, below Cundy's Har- 
bor, to lock the back door, as it were, to 
this city. At this time also, the only forti- 
fication ever •built on Harpswell Neck was 
hurriedly erected. It was only a crude af- 
fair of green logs banked with earth. A 
similar fort was thrown up on the north 
end of Bailey's Island close to Horse Cove. 
All along the Bay a close watch was 
kept for ships of the enemy. From the 
Portland Head Light and the Cape Small 
Point Light, and from the Observatory 
Tower in Portland, which is still standing, 
powerful glasses scanned the bright waters 
of the Bay, and should a suspicious sail 

156 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

rise above the horizon the watchers stood 
every ready to sound the alarm. The 
guards at the month of the New Meadows 
River and the sentries at the forts in Port- 
land Harbor issued orders forbidding any- 
one to pass in a boat after sundown with- 
out hailing and being recognized. The fish- 
ermen considered these orders the height 
of cowardly foolishness and took keen de- 
light in sneaking past these posts in the 
early morning or late evening. This breach 
of discipline resulted in an unfortunate 
tragedy. One evening about dusk, Seth 
Wilson, who was on guard at Cundy's 
Harbor Point, saw a little boat slipping 
up the river. He challenged and received 
no answer. Again he called, "Who goes 
there?" Again no answer. He raised his 
piece and fired. A wild cry echoed his 
shot. The little boat swung 'round in the 
tide and almost immediately sank. The 
unfortunate victim was a fisherman named 
Dingley. After that severe lesson, all 
passersby took special pains to make them- 
selves known to the guards. 

Finally the danger which threatened 
Bath came, but not by way of Casco Bay 
and the New Meadows River. The British 

157 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

cruisers entered boldly by the mouth of 
the Kennebec. General King ordered the 
militia of the Casce district to mobilize 
and march at once to the defence of Bath. 
In order that the rear approaches to the 
city might not be left open and to furnish 
some sort of protection to the Upper Bay, 
Major Johnson left the Bailey's Island 
Company, under Captain James Sinnott, 
at the fort on this island. 

One morning, not long after the depart- 
ure of their comrades, the little garrison 
on Bailey's Island saw a small coasting 
vessel scurry down the long arm of Cape 
Small Point hotly pursued by one of the 
enemy's cruisers. The little vessel ran in 
between Ram and Pond Islands and the 
cruiser, foiled by the shallow water, sent 
a boat, manned with sailors and marines, 
after her. The coaster continued till she 
came to Horse Cove on Bailey's Island, al- 
most under the very walls of the crude fort 
at the Narrows. The English boat fol- 
lowed, and Captain Sinnott sent John 
Ham, of Brunswick, with two others, to 
hail the enemy, and, under threat of fire 
from the tiny fort, order them off. Ham 
and his companions ran out to the rocky 

158 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

point east of Horse Cove and called out 
to the English boat: 

"Hey — ahoy, there! What do you 
want?" 

"The coaster!" came back the reply. 

"You can't have her," bellowed Ham. 

"We'll take her, thank you." 

"If you don't get out in five minutes, 
we'll sink you!" 

The English stopped and conferred. 
Some were evidently for closing in and 
risking it. Others pointed to the fort. 
After a little pause, the officer in charge 
gave the order and the boat returned to 
the cruiser, who put about and joined her 
consorts at the mouth of the Kennebec. 

Portland herself had an alarm one July 
morning in 1813 when a strange sail ap- 
peared suddenly off Cape Eliabeth. Her 
trim rig and high waists proclaimed her to 
be a man-of-war, and the tocsin was sound- 
ed. But the stranger sailed majestically 
by and was lost to view behind the wooded 
heights of Jewell's Island. Off Haskell 
Island a little fishing smack was bobbing 
up and down in the open sea. Aboard her 
were James Sinnott, Jr., a young man of 
twenty -three and his two younger brothers. 

159 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

They saw the man-o'-war, but she was 
flying the stars and stripes, and so they 
eagerly, as boys would, accepted the cor- 
dial invitation that was extended to them 
to visit the American man-o'-war, Essex. 
Once on board, however, they were hustled 
into the captain's cabin and curtly in- 
formed that they were prisoners aboard 
His Britannic Majesty's ship Rattler, and 
that no harm would be done them. It was 
their fishing smack, not themselves, that 
was wanted. This smack, if she nosed 
about Casco Bay, would attract no atten- 
tion, and the English officers wanted to 
discover the extent of the defences of the 
territory. A crew of ten men were put 
in the small sail boat and off she went. The 
Rattler withdrew further off the coast and 
a week later again picked up the scouting 
party. Sinnott and his brothers were well 
treated and well fed, and when the ex- 
plorers returned, they were restored to 
their boat and set free. 

Another man from Orr's Island had a 
somewhat similar adventure. Richard Orr, 
"old Uncle Dick Orr", as he was affection- 
ately called, was out in his canoe one day 
when a British privateersman came along 

160 




THE CAVE, ORR S ISLAND 




MOONLIGHT IN CASCO BAY 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

and commanded him to come aboard and 
act as pilot. In reply lie dug his paddle in 
the water and made for Ram Island. The 
English chased him in a small boat, but he 
had time to land and drag his light canoe 
into a cave where he hid so securely that 
his pursuers could not discover him. They 
prowled about the little island, and finding 
some sheep that were pastured there, killed 
three and returned to their vessel. During 
the night, Uncle Dick launched his canoe 
and under cover of the darkness paddled 
over to Lowell's Cove, Orr's Island. The 
next morning the privateer, having sailed 
off in the night, was nowhere to be seen. 

When the War of 1812 ended, Portland, 
a second time, took up her business of 
building ships and sending them out to all 
the ports of the globe, and it was during 
the next forty years that the city made 
its greatest strides forward. The harbor 
was now always dotted with great schoon- 
ers, and the little vessels of the fishing 
fleet were always scurrying to and from the 
Banks. In 1827, Congress appropriated 
$3,000 (this was later increased to $7,500) 
for two lighthouses to be erected on Cape 

161 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Elizabeth, and eleven years later the Port- 
land Breakwater was built at a cost of 
|10,000. 

It was just before the Civil War that 
Casco Bay first became known as a sum- 
mer resort. The good people of Portland 
had long enjoyed the islands as capital pic- 
nic and camping grounds, but the world 
outside had not yet discovered the rugged, 
pine-crowned islands, swept with ocean 
breezes, where the Abenaki Indians, long 
before the coming of the whites, had spent 
the summer months. In 1850, Lemuel 
Cushing bought Cushing's Island, and 
three years later his hotel, the Ottawa 
House, first opened its doors. The very 
next year, the Union House, originally 
called the American House, was opened on 
Peaks Island. 

Portland and the Cape Shore, Falmouth, 
Cumberland, and Yarmouth all gave freely 
of their sons for the Union cause during 
the Civil War, and the roster of the vari- 
ous Maine regiments contains many a 
name familiar to-day among the islands. 
The war itself, except for one stirring in- 
cident, did not come within Casco Bay. 
On the 27th of June, 1863, a Confederate 

162 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

privateersman, slipping quietly along the 
Maine coast, met, off Cape Elizabeth, the 
small fishing boat of one Bibber from 
Freeport. They made him a prisoner, and 
recognizing the opportunity presented by 
his intimate knowledge of the coast, de- 
cided to employ him as a pilot on a bold 
raid right into the very heart of Portland 
Harbor. They hung off the Cape till night, 
and then ordered Bibber to steer the vessel 
into Portland Harbor. He refused. The 
captain clapped a pistol to his temple and 
gave him the choice of bringing the ship 
safe into Portland Harbor, or having his 
brains blown out. Trusting to the vigil- 
ance of the sentries at the two forts to dis- 
cover the bold raider, Bibber obeyed. With 
every light extinguished, the vessel crept 
under the beetling crags of White Head, 
and worked cautiously round behind the 
forts, past the partly built Fort Gorges 
and into the harbor. Quietly she was 
brought alongside the cutter Caleb Gush- 
ing. The Confederates boarded her, and 
before her crew knew what had happened 
they were in the power of the Southerners. 
Then, with her prize in tow, the gritty lit- 
tle privateer made for the open sea again. 

163 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

But the alarm had been sounded. There 
was a bustle at the little forts by the har- 
bor's mouth, but the enemy had already 
cleared the ship channel and was out of 
range. A swift schooner was hastily 
manned with a picked crew of volunteers 
and the pursuit started. The privateer was 
captured off Richmond Island. A few shots 
were exchanged, but, hampered by her prize, 
the Confederate was no match for the in- 
furiated Portlander. The privateer was 
boarded, and after a brisk fight her crew 
surrendered. The Portland men blew up 
the desperate raider and with the recap- 
tured Caleb dishing and their prisoners 
sailed triumphantly back to the city. The 
little seaport celebrated boisterously. There 
were a parade and fireworks and speeches 
in the park that evening, and dances and 
dinners in the big houses, while the little 
forts in. the harbor fired a royal salute of 
twenty -one guns in honor of the exploit. 

After the close of the war the defences 
of the harbor were again overhauled. 
Forts Scammel and Preble were repaired 
and partly enlarged. The Breakwater, which 
had been so long under construction, was 
finally finished and, under the competent 

164 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

hands of Lieutenant Casey, Fort Gorges 
was rushed to completion. But the long, 
hard struggles and a series of modern in- 
ventions were destined to work changes in 
Gasco Bay. 

In the perilous war times, many ship 
owners, fearing the Confederate privateers, 
had transferred their bottoms to the pro- 
tection of other flags. The coining of the 
steamboats with steel hulls was a blow to 
the builders of the stout wooden sailing 
ships for which Casco Bay had long been 
famous. Gradually the introduction of 
quicker transportation and better methods 
of refrigeration changed the salt fish in- 
dustry to the modern fresh fish business. 
In place of the fish stands on the different 
islands where the fish were dried and packed 
in barrels have sprung up great wholesale 
fish houses along the Portland wharfs, 
where the islanders now sell their finny 
cargoes to be packed in ice and delivered 
in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia 
twenty-four hours after they are lifted from 
the sea. All these changes have helped 
transform Portland from a busy, old- 
fashioned seaport, to a bustling modern 
city. 

165 



Casco Myths and Legends 

ON the 11th of April, 1700, Colonel 
Bonier His Majesty's Engineer-in- 
Chief in America, having inspected Casco 
Bay, reported to the Earl of Bellmont, Cap- 
tain General of His Majesty's Forces in 
New England that "sd. Bay is cover'd 
from storms that come from ye sea by a 
multitude of Islands, great and small, 
there being (if one may believe report) as 
many islands as there are Days in a yr." 
So the story that there are just three 
hundred and sixty-five Casco Islands was 
not invented, as the skeptical summer visit- 
or sometimes supposes, for his special ben- 
efit, but was "common report" over two 
centuries ago. After watching two enthu- 
siasts painstakingly check over the Gov- 
ernment chart and having seen each arrive 
at a very different total, I am very willing 
to accept the traditional figures. 

166 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Whatever their number, there is hardly 
one of this multitude of islands that can- 
not tell some interesting bit of historical 
gossip, some strange yarn, some romantic 
legend. Cousins Island, for example, was 
owned during the time of the Indian wars 
by Vines Ellicott, grandson of Gorges' 
agent and he mortgaged it to the Com- 
missioners for the Propagation of the Gos- 
pel among the Indians, who found this ex- 
cellent employment for the missionary 
funds at a time when those to be convert- 
ed were in so unreceptive a mood. Cousins 
Island's neighbor, Lane Island, was once an 
Indian burial ground, and here on two oc- 
casions the exulting redskins sacrificed 
with horrible torture their hapless white 
captives. On the ragged outer reef of 
Peaks Island, near Trott's Rock, the 
schooner Helen Eliza was wrecked, and all 
her crew, save one boy, were lost. Charles 
Jordan, the sole survivor, had once before, 
when his vessel foundered in a hurricane 
in the West Indies, been the only one 
saved and he determined to tempt Fate 
no further. Accordingly, he went to work 
as a farm hand for one of his relatives up 
in New Hampshire, but a few months 

167 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

later he slipped off a log, when crossing 
a trout brook, and was drowned, which 
seems to prove the fisherman's stoical phil- 
osophy that "en a seafarin' man's agoin' 
t'drown, thar ain't no way t'save him." 
The eerie legend of the ghostly ship, whose 
vain effort to round Harpswell Neck and 
make a safe haven in Pott's Harbor was 
always believed by the fisherman to be a 
sign of a wreck somewhere in the Bay, was 
taken by Whittier as the subject of a poem. 

And so it is with all the islands, each 
one has its own yarn to tell. The ragged, 
rugged outer islands, parts of the great 
natural breakwater Nature has erected in 
front of the Bay, were formerly the haunts 
of pirates and smugglers. On the fertile, 
low-lying inner islands the first settlers in 
the bay fought off the bitter attacks of 
the French and Indians. 

In early days seals, whales, and the big, 
grey herons for which the land of Auco- 
cisco was named by the Indians were plen- 
tiful. Now they have all but vanished. 
Another curious beast, the sea serpent, has 
also forsaken Casco Bay. His favorite 
habitat is now the Jersey coast, off Atlan- 
tic City or Long Branch, but the very first 

168 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

one ever seen in America, "the original and 
only genuine" one was discovered by the 
English traveler, John Josselyn, basking 
on the rocks of Cushing's Island. He 
described him in his quaint book of travels 
in the American colonies so that there is no 
mistaking the beast, as "a great snake that 
did lay on ye rocks, sunning", and he 
would fain have shot him, but his Indian 
guides forbade the attempt, lest, being but 
wounded, the monster should sink their 
frail canoe. 

Michael Mitton, the son4n-law of Cleeves 
and the original owner of Peaks Island, 
told Josselyn of another strange beast 
in Casco Bay which also found its 
way into the traveller's book. Mitton was 
a jovial soul, a splendid boon companion 
for a little hunting trip, the life of a party 
on a long winter's evening. He had a 
taste for strong drink, and "stonewall", 
half Jamaica rum and half hard cider, 
was his favorite tipple. He was continual- 
ly complaining of the high cost of "aqua- 
vita", and one time, when John Winter of 
Richmond Island charged him six shillings 
and eight pence for a gallon jug, they 
came to blows. 

169 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

One day, when out fishing, so Mitton told 
Josselyn, and one hardly knows whether 
the story was inspired by "stonewall" or 
Michael's love of chaffing, he came sudden* 
ly upon a tryton or merman. Mitton was 
rounding one of the small islands, like as 
not it was Pumpkin Knob, when this 
strange creature grabbed his canoe and, if 
he had not cut off its hand, it would have 
upturned his boat. The merman sank to 
the bottom of the bay, and all the waters 
'round, so Josselyn solemnly tells us, were 
stained a deep purple by its blood. 

Another early island owner was fond of 
drinking "stonewall" and playing practical 
pranks. He was James Rennie, who in 
1808 bought Mackey's Island from Jane 
Deering. Rennie, a most uncanny Scot, 
promptly mortgaged his island and built 
an elaborate mansion where he entertained 
elaborately. His wife, a charming Scotch- 
woman of gentle blood, was a delightful 
hostess, and their dinners, though often 
marred by the over-indulgence of the host 
himself, were famous. 

Rennie was a ventriloquist, and in those 
days ventriloquism was little known, so, 
when he first came to Portland, he was 

170 



GASCO BAY YARNS 

able to play several fine jokes. One day 
lie drove into the city's hay market with a 
load from his island meadows, and being 
of no mind to unload himself, he used his 
gift to make it sound as if a boy was 
smothering at the bottom of the hay 
wagon. The good-hearted farmers turned 
to the rescue work with a will, and Rennie, 
chuckling to himself, slipped off and went 
over to the fish wharf. A smack from one 
of the islands, loaded with cod and mack- 
erel had just docked, and he stopped to 
buy some fish. 

"Are your fish fresh?" he asked. 

"Caught since sunrise," replied one of 
the fishermen. 

"Well, I must say they don't look it." 

"But," protested the islander, "they are 
still alive." 

"Is that so?" Rennie asked sarcastically. 
"Well, we'll soon see about that." Then 
turning to the glistening heap of fish, he 
called, "Hey, there, you fish, when were 
you caught?" 

"Four days ago," came the startling an- 
swer. 

"There," said Rennie, "I knew you were 
lying to me." 

171 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

When the superstitious fishermen heard 
their catch speak they were dumbfounded. 
One of the more excitable jumped into the 
smack and began shoveling the talking fish 
overboard. Another shouted, "A miracle!" 
and falling on his knees began to pray. 
Rennie burst out laughing, and the rest, 
resenting his insults and recognizing that 
his demeanor was hardly that of a holy 
man, decided his powers came from Beelze- 
bub. They grabbed him, but he shook them 
off, and would doubtless have escaped, 
but just at this moment an excited mob 
of farmers from the hay market appeared 
at the head of the* wharf. They had found 
no boy under the hay and had set off to 
find the man who had wrought this witch- 
craft. Farmers and fishermen compared 
notes, while Rennie, laughing to himself, 
stood calmly in the center of the excited 
throng. Some wanted to burn him at the 
stake as a wizard. Others advised turning 
him over to the authorities. Rennie, 
frightened at this serious turn of events, 
tried to explain, but a couple of lusty fel- 
lows grabbed him by the arms and legs 
and unceremoniously tossed him off the 
dock into the slip. Some of his friends 

172 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

came up in time to save him from another 
ducking. 

After this Rennie turned his powers to 
practical effect by giving professional ex- 
hibitions. He traveled about and made 
considerable money, but he lived recklessly 
and finally decided to recoup his scattered 
fortunes by a tour of the West Indies. He 
never returned. Some say he died of the 
fever in Jamaica; others that he deserted 
his family. His poor wife had nothing 
save a stack of unpaid bills, but Captain 
Theodore Mussey, who bought the island 
at the bankruptcy sale for $365, allowed 
her to live in the house rent free until she 
died. Later Mackey's Island was bought by 
Judge James T. Baxter. 

There is a curious tradition associated 
with ownership of land on Cousins Island, 
which dates back to the very first owner, 
John Cousins. The Indians called this 
island Susquesong, and the early settlers 
knew it as Little Hogg, but the first own- 
er's name has prevailed over both of these. 
John Cousins was over forty years old 
when he first bought the island from Vines, 
Gorges' agent, and he lived there until he 
was driven off by the Indian troubles and 

173 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

took refuge in York. Here he died, several 
years later, at the advanced age of ninety- 
six years. After the Indian wars the island 
was settled by Roland Hamilton, brother 
of Ambrose Hamilton, the settler of Che- 
beague. All the Hamiltons have always 
been famous as a strong, long-lived family, 
but Roland was stronger and lived to a 
greater age than any of his contemporaries. 
A little later, in 1740, another man who 
attained a ripe old age, John Lewis, the 
last of the four judges of North Yar- 
mouth, bought his farm on Cousins Island. 
By this time it was generally believed that 
to own land on Cousins Island was a 
guaranty of long life, and even to-day 
this is said to have its effect on the price 
of cottage sites on this popular island. 

Two little neighbors of Cousins Island, 
Bustin's Island, first owned by William 
Haynes, the first schoolmaster of Fal- 
mouth, and Bibber's Island, named after 
an ancestor of the same Bibber who at the 
pistol point was forced to bring the Con- 
federate privateer into Portland Harbor, 
both claim to be the site of the mysterious 
lead mine, where the Englishman Ransom 
got the metal he said he could transmute 

174 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

into silver. Ransom appeared suddenly, 
from whence no one knew, about 1801, and 
his alchemical practices soon won him the 
name of the "Acaraza Man". After Salter 
Quincy, a respectable silversmith of Port- 
land, had actually tested the crude lead 
ore from Bibber's, or Bustin's, Island that 
went into the alchemist's magical pot and 
the little shining ingot that came out and 
proclaimed the former was true lead and 
the latter was pure silver, the whole city 
believed Ransom's glittering claims. Sal- 
ter Quincy became his partner and gave 
the use of his shop. Dupes flocked to in- 
vest in this splendid get-rich-quick scheme. 
For weeks Ransom did a flourishing busi- 
ness, but some investors became suspicious 
and watched his secret laboratory through 
a hole bored in the wall. With elaborate 
ceremony Ransom was accustomed to put 
the ore in the little pot, sprinkling it with 
May dew and other mysterious and potent 
charms, stirring it the while with a long 
black rod. Accompanied by strange in- 
cantations the mixture in the little pot was 
fused over the silversmith's fire, and finally 
the little ball of pure silver extracted. The 
watchers behind the scenes discovered that 

175 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

the potency of all these charms lay literally 
in the long black wand. Its end was hol- 
low, and in a little hole the wizard rolled 
up a thin Spanish silver coin called a pis- 
tareen. Ransom was arrested, but he es- 
caped. His final disappearance was as sud- 
den and as mysterious as his first appear- 
ance in Portland. 

The story is also told of Bibber's Island 
that it once changed hands over the turn 
of a card. It was, so the report goes, put 
into a jack-pot in a game of poker, and the 
owner held three jacks against his oppo- 
nent's three queens. Other islands in the 
bay have changed hands curiously. Sebas- 
codegan Island, the largest of all the 
"three hundred and sixty-five" was orig- 
inally bought from the Pejepscot Indians 
for the almost proverbial horn of powder 
and bottle of rum. George Jewell did not 
strike quite so good a bargain with the 
natives when he purchased the beautiful 
island that still bears his name, for he 
had to throw in half a dozen fish hooks 
over and above the gunpowder and rum. 
The very names of Junk of Pork and 
Pound of Tea are said to record the com- 
modities given in exchange for them. 

176 




LOBSTER FISHING FLEET,- CLIFF ISLAND 




SMUGGLERS COVE, JEWELLS ISLAND 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

There is very often an interesting yarn 
in the names of the islands. Many are 
still called after their original settlers. 
For nearly three centuries Jewell's, Lane's, 
White, Cousins, for example, have borne 
the same name. Moshier's Island was also 
called after its first owner, Hugh Mosier, 
a young adventurer from London who 
took up the island in 1634. Mackey's 
Island is but a corrupted form of Mack- 
worth's Island, which the Indians called 
"Menickoe", or clump of pines. Bailey's 
Island bears the name of Deacon Timothy 
Bailey, who, in 1742, was the first perma- 
nent settler, and Orr's Island is called after 
two brothers, Joseph and Clement, who, in 
1748, bought the island from the heirs of 
Elisha Cook of Boston and settled there. 
Two of the important islands retain their 
original Indian names, the large Sebas- 
codegan, meaning "long carry" from the 
portage connecting the bay with the New 
Meadows River in the Indian line of 
march, and Chebeague, meaning "cold 
water," or "cold springs," from the many 
springs the Indians found there on the 
summer expeditions. At one time the First 
Church of Boston owned half of Che- 

177 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

beague and the island was then called 
Becompence. 

Some of the islands have had many 
names. Cliff was formerly Crotch Island, 
and Diamond was long called Hog Island. 
Cushing's Island has had the following 
names: Andross', from James Andrews, 
the first settler; Portland, which Andrews 
himself called it; Fort, in commemoration 
of the fortified refnge there dnring the In- 
dian wars, and finally Cushing's after 
Colonel Ezekiel Cushing, the Indian fighter 
who settled there after the wars were over. 
Peaks Island, however, has been blessed 
with the most elaborate collection of names, 
and strangely, it has only been recently 
discovered just who or what Peaks was. 
The island was first called Pond, but when 
Cleeves gave it to his son-in-law, Michael 
Mitton, he called it after him, Michael's 
Island. Then successive owners, Munjoy, 
Palmer, Waite, and Brackett gave it their 
own names. For two hundred years, 
however, it has been called Peaks Island, 
a name it received in a most roundabout 
way The island was divided equally 
among the grandchildren of George Mun- 
joy, and Josiah Munjoy received with the 

178 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

others his one-ninth. He was an inn- 
keeper of Fish Street, Boston, and, after 
his death, his widow, who was Martha 
Cutler, married again. Her second hus- 
band was Stephen Pearks, who, upon his 
marriage gave up his trade as founder and 
turned inn-keeper. A year later, on the 
23rd of October, 1723, Stephen and Martha 
Pearks sold one-ninth of Pearks Island in 
Casco Bay to John Smith of Boston. Thus 
Pearks, though he was never, save by 
proxy, owner of the land and probably 
never even saw it, was able to give his 
name to the island. 

The most fascinating of all the yarns 
of Casco Bay are those dealing with pi- 
rates and smugglers. Who doesn't thrill 
at the thought of a buried treasure, and 
who is not stirred when they stand on the 
shore of a smuggler's cove? 

Richest in these romantic traditions 
among all the Casco Islands is Jewells. 
Purchased from the Indians, it was used 
as a fishing station, and twice, in 1678 and 
1688, served as a refuge for the settlers 
from the mainland. Indian Point on the 
inner shore is said to be the exact spot 
where the savages massacred Mrs. Potts 

179 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

and her two children before the very eyes 
of her husband. 

There are two distinct pirate traditions 
associated with Jewells Island. According 
to one, a ship of one of the Bermuda pi- 
rates struck the Brown Cow in a heavy 
sea and foundered. The crew, or some of 
them at least, managed to make Jewells 
Island in a small boat. They saved from 
the wreck a great chest of gold, and this 
they buried, rumor has always said, some- 
where near the Punch Bowl. Their treas- 
ure safely hidden, they scattered, but some 
of the party are said to have returned with 
a chart and spades several years later, and 
old Chase, a former owner of the island, al- 
ways claimed to have entertained these sus- 
picious visitors, and also to have found a 
square hole in the pebbly beach of the 
Punch Bowl Cove out of which their chest 
had been lifted. 

Jewells Island's other pirate yarn con- 
cerns none other than the great Captain 
Kidd himself. There is hardly a hundred 
miles of the Atlantic coast where some reef 
or bar is not pointed out as the hiding 
place of this ubiquitous gentleman's treas- 
ure, but the Jewells Island story has the 

180 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

authority of age, for the army officers who 
investigated the bay for suitable sites for 
frontier forts, just after the close of the 
Revolution, described Jewells in their re- 
port as "a beautiful island over against the 
sea where the pirate Kydd, if one may be- 
lieve popular report, buried a store of jew- 
els and other goods of rare value." Even 
to-day, islanders all over the bay believe 
"thar's somethin' in the story 'bout Kidd's 
gold on Jewells Island." 

Speculation runs riot as to the hiding 
place of this treasure, but the southern 
end of the island is the most popular loca- 
tion among the speculators. There is a 
generally accepted tradition that tells of 
a mysterious sea captain from Freeport 
who called on Ed Pettingill — his grand- 
children are living on Cliff Island to-day 
— and asked him if he was familiar with 
Jewells Island. Pettingill worked on the 
island as a handy man for old Chase, and 
he replied that he knew it well. 

"What," asked the old sailor, "is the 
southern end of the island like?" 

"Well," answered Pettingill, "the land 
starts at the wood and slopes gently down 

181 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

to the shore. There's a couple of long 
points with a shallow cove in between." 

The stranger nodded eagerly, and asked, 
"Did you ever see a big flat rock on those 
southern swales marked with an inverted 
compass — that is with north pointing 
south." 

"No, I ain't never seen it, an' I've looked 
for it when I was ploughing there, because 
my father told me about it. It's not there 
now," he concluded positively. 

The old sea captain was evidently much 
disappointed, and, after a little question- 
ing, spun the following curious yarn: 
Years before, he said, in a sailor's resort 
in Key West an old man had accosted him 
and told him that he had heard he was 
from Freeport, Maine, in Casco Bay. He 
asked him if he knew Jewells Island, and 
told him that Captain Kidd had buried 
a great treasure under a flat rock on the 
southern end of the island. He would not 
tell how he knew it, or who he was, but 
he gave the following account of the hiding 
of the treasure. Kidd was coasting off 
the Long Island shore when he was fright 
ened by the sight of a frigate's sail and 
scurried around Cape Cod. Off the Isle of 

182 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Shoals another suspicious sail sent him 
farther north, so, after eluding this pur- 
suer, he determined to hide some of his 
ill-gotten gains in case he might be cap- 
tured. Accordingly, he put in towards land 
and dropped his anchor off Jewells Island. 
A great copper kettle was taken from the 
galley and filled with the richest of the 
booty, jewels and gold The whole crew 
was ordered to the boats, and after at- 
tempting to land on the rocky outer 
shore, they rounded the southern point and 
beached their boats in the shallow cove. 
Kidd with two loaded pistols stood guard 
over the precious kettle while the crew 
explored the island. Finding it uninhab- 
ited, the pirate ordered some of the men to 
dig a hole for the treasure, while he told 
off others to fill the water kegs at the 
spring near the center of the island. By 
the time the hole was dug and the kettle 
safely deposited in it and covered, the water 
bearers had returned, and Kidd command- 
ed the whole crew to place over the treas- 
ure a great flat rock which their combined 
efforts could just move. "We'll make it big 
enough, boys," he laughed with an oath, 
"so we'll have to all come back together to 

183 



CA8C0 BAY YARNS 

move it." Then the pirate captain himself 
carved the strange mark upon it, and they 
put to sea again. Shortly afterwards they 
were captured; Kidd and two others were 
hanged in London; and the crew was scat- 
tered. The stranger in the Key West sa- 
loon would not tell where he learned all 
this, but he kept repeating that he was an 
old man and could never get to Jewells 
Island now. 

There is another well believed tradition 
about Kidd's gold on Jewells Island that 
connects the name of old Captain Chase 
grewsomely with the treasure trove. Some 
sixty years ago, so runs the tale, a stranger 
came to Cliff Island to hire someone to 
row him over to Jewells. He had a spade 
and claimed to to have a chart indicating 
the location of Kidd's cache. He was 
rowed over and dismissed his ferry. Next 
day he returned to Cliff Island in one of 
Chase's boats to buy a pick. He said that 
he had struck a bargain with the old man 
and that they were going to hunt together 
for the buried gold. He returned to Jew- 
ells, but was never seen nor heard of again. 
Chase claimed he returned to Portland 
after the search failed, but there was al- 

184 



CAS CO BAY YARNS 

ways a strong suspicion of foul play, and 
just a few years ago, the present owners, 
in digging a drain under the barn, un- 
earthed a human skull. 

Old Chase could not escape suspicion. 
He was a bad character and famous as a 
go-between for the smugglers. They still 
tell on Cliff Island how the old man's deep 
voice could be heard bellowing out oaths 
from his island half a mile away, and his 
curious old house was a supply depot for 
any islander who wanted to buy good Ja- 
maica rum at a price that discounted the 
excise duties. This old house, before it 
was destroyed by fire in the winter of 
1913, was one of the most interesting rel- 
ics in the bay. It perched high on the 
crest of the hill, commanding a splendid 
view both of the snug little cove at the 
northern end of the island, the cove that 
is still called the Smuggler's Cove, and also 
of the inner bay. More a fortress than a 
home, it was plainly built by a man who 
did not want to entertain guests. The 
windows on the lower floor were mere port- 
holes, and the upper floor was only 
reached by a rope ladder that could be 
raised and lowered at will. The McKeens, 

185 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

who now own the island, lived in this 
strange honse for years before they discov- 
ered a secret closet in between the two 
floors. In that closet were many old rum 
bottles, and upon the woody crest of the 
island they have also found an ancient, 
iron-bound sea chest full of badly decayed 
silks, 

In the old days, many a trim coaster, 
fresh from the West Indies, would slip 
quietly into the well protected Smuggler's 
Cove. Here she could lie, hidden from pry- 
ing eyes, for the outer arm of the cove was 
then heavily wooded. She would have a 
cargo ostensibly of sugar and molasses, but 
tucked away in odd corners in her hold 
would be a few cases of rum. These would 
be unloaded and carried up to Chase's 
house, and stored in the secret closet. Then 
the vessel would proceed innocently into 
Portland Harbor and discharge her legiti- 
mate cargo. 

As if the exorbitant profits of this law- 
less trade were not enough, old Chase was 
reported to have been in a grewsome part- 
nership with a kindred spirit, a smuggler 
and reputed ex-pirate, Keiff, who lived 
over by the Crotch on Cliff Island. This 

186 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

precious pair, so the story goes, carried on 
an unholy business in deliberate wrecks. 
By displaying lights over on the cliffs 
where the single, lone cedar grows on Cliff 
Island, they used to tempt vessels into the 
shallow channel between the two islands. 
When they wrecked on the saw-like reefs 
-off Cliff Island, the partners collected the 
salvage. The grassy knoll, above where the 
road on Cliff Island turns out to the 
Crotch, is still called Keiff's Garden. It is 
the reputed burying place of the sailors 
whose poor bodies were washed ashore, 
♦after being decoyed to their death by the 
lying signals. 

On Haskell Island is another Smuggler's 
Cove, reported to have been an outpost of 
the unscrupulous band that had their head- 
quarters over on Mair Point. There are 
also smugglers' stories told on both Orr's 
and Bailey's Islands. 

This last island, however, is famous among 
.all those in the bay as the home of the only 
man who is known to have actually rifled 
a pirate's treasure trove. About 1840 John 
Wilson quietly slipped away from Bailey's 
Island without saying a word to anyone, 
and he suddenly reappeared a month later 

187 



CAS CO BAY YARNS 

in command of a full-rigged sloop. More- 
over, he was the sole owner of this fine 
new ship. There was nothing unusual in 
a Bailey's Island man being skipper of a 
good vessel, and there were several fine 
sloops owned on the island ; but the double 
honor united in the person of John Wilson 
demanded explanation. When, a little 
later, the same John Wilson purchased a 
splendid farm, tongues wagged 1 all the 
faster. 

For years John Wilson had been the 
island's ne'er-do-well. He frittered away 
his patrimony; whatever money he could 
scrape together slipped through his fingers ; 
none of his ventures turned out successful- 
ly. He seemed destined to be a sort of 
island Rip Van Winkle, a happy, good nat- 
ured, likable chap, whose family would al- 
ways be more or less of a public charge 
upon the charity of his more kind-hearted 
neighbors. But here he was owner of a 
brand new sloop and of one of the best 
farms on the island. 

Gradually the true story leaked out. One 
day that winter, when out duck shooting 
on the Cedar Ledges, a little rocky reef 
that lies between Ram and Elm Islands, 

188 



CASCO BAY YARNS 

Wilson's foot had slipped into a hole. He 
stumbled and fell. Something about the 
hole caught his attention, and he lifted 
the seaweed out of it He found its sides 
round and smooth, and, wonder of won- 
ders ! at the bottom was a corroded copper 
kettle full of strange gold coins. Keeping 
his own counsel, he went to Boston where 
he exchanged his Spanish gold for twelve 
thousand American dollars and bought his 
vessel. 

If you will be careful to go out to the 
Cedar Ledges at low tide — the famous 
"Pirate's Gold Pot" is under water at 
other times — you can, as many other 
Doubting Thomases have done before you, 
put your hand into the hole where this 
hidden treasure lay for so many years. 



189 



